


The Families and The Legacies

by silverfox54



Series: Sanditon Generations [2]
Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: Kidlottes, Loving Marriage, Married Life, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:27:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 91
Words: 230,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfox54/pseuds/silverfox54
Summary: The sequel to "The Brothers” starting where the epilogue left off, in the eighth year of Sidney and Charlotte’s marriage, continuing the narrative of the Parker family, their close friends, and the town of Sanditon. The original multi-chapter "married with kidlottes" story on this site.♦ The Brothers, (my version of Season 2) is the first "book" and should be read first. Click on "Previous work," or "Sanditon Generations."♦ The Families, the second “book” in the trilogy, is now COMPLETE with an epilogue.♦ The Legacies, the third “book” begins at Chapter 56.Many thanks for reading and commenting!
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker, Clara Brereton/Mr. Crowe, Georgiana Lambe/Otis Molyneux, Lord Babington/Esther Denham, Mary Parker/Tom Parker (Sanditon)
Series: Sanditon Generations [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796365
Comments: 2287
Kudos: 783





	1. Part 1 -- The Ninth Sanditon Summer

**Author's Note:**

> 👉 If you haven't read the first story in the trilogy, The Brothers, 🛑 and read it before starting this one. The narratives are connected, and characters and events from The Brothers are referred to in this story without much backtracking or explanation. To start with The Families is literally like beginning a book a third of the way in.
> 
> As with my previous work, I attempt to be as historically accurate as possible. I hope you enjoy!

Old friends together. The possibility of a long journey.

**The Fourth of June, 1827**

_Sanditon_

“What is truly maddening,” Otis said, “is the deliberate refusal to enact any legislation to give black servicemen stable pensions.” Georgiana and Otis Molyneux had arrived at the Parker House from London in the early afternoon with their son, George. The four old friends enjoyed afternoon tea on the covered terrace, the day mild and clear.

“Until then, you do make a difference with the mission, feeding and clothing so many of those poor souls,” said Charlotte.

“Yes, but it is a bandage, not a cure,” Georgiana replied, then sighed.

“But look there.” Sidney nodded towards Adam and Georgie, only two months apart in age, laughing and playing ball on the grass together. “A new generation. Perhaps it speaks well for our future fraternity.”

“We can hope. But now… oh, let us leave this talk,” said Georgiana. “How good it is to see you! I am so disappointed the jolly trio isn’t with us, two years in a row!”

“Yes. They are quite happy in a little fishing village in Provence on the Gulf of Grimaud, Saint-Tropez, and have no desire to return to England just yet,” Sidney said. “They’ve asked us to visit.”

Otis raised his eyebrows. “Children as well?”

“We could not go without them, and Arthur says it’s a spacious villa overlooking the sea, with a large house and a guest cottage.” Sidney looked at Charlotte. “But we have not yet decided.”

“Sidney has decided. I…am not so certain.”

“Ah, Charlotte, the Mediterranean is so beautiful, even in the winter. When would you go?” Otis asked.

“September, perhaps,” said Sidney, “then return January or there about.”

“Travel by land?”

“I think so. The trip is very fast from here to Paris, especially on a steamer crossing the channel. Spend a few days in Paris, then overland the rest of the way. A week perhaps from Paris, unless we stop for a spell in Lyon. Much faster than by sea.”

“Yes, but not as peaceful,” Otis mused, “in calm waters, of course.”

Nanny Grey brought Amelia and Jay from the schoolroom. They squealed with delight and hugged and kissed Auntie Georgiana and Uncle Otis.

“Shall we go sea bathing, Papa, Uncle Otis?” Jay, ever a boy’s boy, bubbled with excitement. Interested in all things physical, ebullient, Jay was rarely still during his waking hours. Make no mistake, he was bright at his studies, but where he truly shone was in his joie de vivre.

Sidney and Otis agreed, and the two men left coats, cravats and waistcoats behind. With Jay on their heels, they trekked down the well-worn path from the house in the vale to the sandy beach, the very same path Sidney and his brothers took with their own father.

As the two women continued the discussion of a long journey with children, Amelia asked to bring the book of map etchings from the library so she could understand where France was in the world, in relation to England. Amelia was the counterpart to her older brother. Where he excelled in the physical, she did in the cerebral, ever questioning, lost in thought, full of wonder. “Why was the sky blue?” “How did birds build nests without hands?” She spoke in full sentences exceptionally early, and at four and a half years, she possessed a large vocabulary, reading and writing at the same level, often better than her brother, two years her senior.

After Amelia was fully satisfied with her map study, including Georgiana pointing out Antigua and a ship’s path when sailing to England, she took the atlas back to the library.

“She is astonishing,” Georgiana remarked.

“Yes, she never seems to stop. From the moment she wakes until she closes her eyes. We cannot keep up with her at times, or always answer her questions to her satisfaction.”

Georgie and Adam now chased each other about the lawn, their white muslin gowns grass stained from tumbles. Retrieved by their mothers and brought to the terrace, they continued to giggle and babble, half words, half their own language.

“When do you plan Adam’s breeching?” Georgiana asked.

“I think as we did with Jay, on his third birthday this November. He’s nearly nimble enough already to handle the fastenings on pantaloons or skeleton suit. Time to put him in breeches. What about Georgie?”

“I thought the same.”

The two little ones now looked heavy lidded, tired from play, swayed by the soft laps and voices of their mothers, who embraced the modern methods of child rearing. They did not swaddle their infants to hard boards, or foster them out to another family, or hire a wet nurse as in times past. Both believed boys and girls should be allowed to express their natural impulses, much the way Charlotte was raised.

Amelia, looking a bit tired herself, lay her head on her mother’s arm. It was determined everyone needed a lie-down, and with three children tucked into beds in the nursery, the two friends bid each other a pleasant rest.

Stripped to her chemise, under a summer quilt, Charlotte stretched out on the bed. She was with child again, she was certain, a little over a month or so, two weeks late. The time between Amelia and Adam had been shorter than she liked, so she had nursed Adam longer, even though her mother warned it wasn’t always foolproof. But it worked until she weaned him completely a few months ago and her cycles returned. She was uncertain how she felt about a fourth. This would have been the first summer of her marriage that she was not with child or nursing, and she had been looking forward to it.

It was after Adam was born that Sidney convinced her to hire Nanny Grey, not as a children’s nurse, but more a mother’s helper. Charlotte had been so exhausted to have a newborn along with the ever active Jay and persistently curious Amelia, she welcomed the assistance, much to her surprise. Sidney was often in London during that time, having finished the Sanditon development and working to rebuild his business sometimes neglected in the process. Nanny was especially suited for the schoolroom and lessons. She managed the children’s clothing and assisted with their meals. It had been a blessing, especially last summer when Charlotte managed the charity bazaar by herself after Lady Denham’s death.

She wondered if Sidney would respond differently than he had with the first three. She was 30 years old, after all. He assured her he did not care how her body had changed after three children. If she mentioned it, his response was swift: she would always be beautiful in his eyes. His desire for her never faded, even when her belly was enormous and she waddled about. She maintained her figure with miles of walking to and from Sanditon, sea bathing, and helping the groundskeeper with the garden, but still, her belly had a soft sag and was covered with long stretch scars, despite applications of creams made from the oil of olives and myrtle. More than anything, the recent turn of events made her hesitant to undertake a long journey. Sidney wished an answer from her soon, she knew. Plans had to be made.

She must have dozed off, for next she knew the quilt had been replaced by her warm, naked husband, his hands under her chemise, coaxing her as he ardently kissed her awake, his hair still damp and skin tasting salty from the sea.

**The Sixth** and **Seventh of June, 1827**

_Sanditon_

The annual cricket match was half way through, the gentlemen’s team currently ahead of the workers’. Dressed in his cricket whites, Sidney bowled. Further up on the dunes, a group of old friends watched from under a white pavilion. Deep in conversation with half attention on the match, little ones on their laps, were Clara Crowe and Lucy Stringer, the newest member of the group. Lady Esther Babington and Charlotte Parker conferred on last minute details of the upcoming charity bazaar. Mary Parker, the grand dame of the group, and Georgiana Molyneux were quiet in their own thoughts at that moment.

The workers’ team, led by Fred Robinson, was always formidable, especially with James Stringer bowling. He always played with the workers for old time's sake. The gentlemen’s team was short three usual members, Arthur, Francis, and Charles, as Alison had just given birth and they could not travel. Henry played for the first time, gangly but proficient, his delight in being on the field with the men more than apparent. Mr Hankins was the umpire, of course, and his devoted wife, Augusta Hankins, the former Mrs Griffiths, had eyes only for him. Jay, James and Anthony, the Babington’s oldest son, watched the game intently from the sidelines, shouting out as young boys do.

Adam and Georgie were now a trio, with Esther’s youngest son, Marcus. The three boys, all within three months’ age of each other, played in the sand with wooden blocks and soldiers. Clara’s daughter, Sophie; Esther’s oldest, Phoebe; and Amelia were all under the spell of Jenny and Alicia, fine and fancy young ladies to be emulated and admired.

In the end, the gentlemen’s team lost, ending their two year winning streak. The day after, the Babington’s hosted a gathering at Sanditon House for family and friends. Next week would be the _Ladies’ of Sanditon Sale_ charity bazaar on Thursday, the Regatta on Friday and the Midsummer Ball on Saturday. In anticipation, Tom Parker, now one and forty years old, brimmed with enthusiasm as he always did. Neither time nor circumstance ever dimmed Tom’s devotion to his creation, nor did they ever bestow on him the gift of serious introspection.

###

In the quiet of their chamber as they lay in bed, Charlotte’s back to his chest, wrapped in his arms, Sidney asked, “When were you going to tell me?”

“I still cannot yet decide. It’s such a long journey.”

“No, when were you going to _tell_ me?”

She paused, sighed. “When I was certain.”

“Are you not? I am.”

She smiled in the dark. “Are you now? Tell me how you came to this conclusion.”

“As if I do not know you? First of all, you’re _late_.”

“A little.”

“More than a little. And…” he nuzzled her neck, “your scent tells me,” into her ear, “your taste tells me.”

“You are guessing…”

“No,” he cupped her breast and stroked the nipple. She caught her breath.

“Well, perhaps …”

“And, the _pièce de résistance,_ you’ve twice asked for Antigua foot rubs this week.” He half kissed, half laughed into her shoulder.

“All right, yes, but it’s too early. It might not stay. You must know this is why I am reluctant to commit to… to travel.”

“Maybe this will ease your mind. Otis told me he and Georgiana would like to come with us. And we can leave earlier, late August? We can also come back early, or have the baby there, in France. You’ll have Diana and Georgiana with you.”

“And you?”

“Of course me. I’m still annoyed they would not let me in for Jay. We’ll write to Diana and ask her to secure midwives and a doctor. Babies are born in France all the time.”

“Really?” I had no idea.”

“Oh stop. And I tell you right now, it is a girl.”

“Shall we wager?”

“Fine. If it’s a girl, you are still my wife. If it’s a boy, I am still your husband.”

“That sounds fair.”

"Well then."

"Well then."

“I will write to Arthur in the morning.”


	2. Otis and Georgiana

**The Eighth of June, 1827**

_Sanditon_

The second wisest choice Otis Molyneux made in his life was to join the Royal Navy. The first was to become the man deserving of Georgiana’s hand in marriage. Three years at sea on the _HMS_ _Caledonia_ cut away the excess and tightened the slack in his character and his body. He left as an often sanctimonious young man with the best intentions but decided lack in disciplining his urges. He returned a man with steel in his backbone and a far better understanding of his fellow man. It was as if his vision had grown from the size of a peep-hole to a panorama. 

The man currently sitting across the breakfast table from Sidney bore little, if any resemblance to the one up to his neck in gambling debt Sidney had chased away from Georgiana eight years ago. At this moment, Otis had Jay spellbound with the story of the wound that left a large scar above his eyebrow, received during a skirmish with pirates. When the story was finished, Jay ran off to battle pirates until Nanny Grey shanghaied him for morning lessons. Amelia finished her breakfast and curled up in a chair with _Tommy Thumb’s Pretty Song Book,_ waiting for her mother, who uncharacteristically had not yet come to table.

And so sat the two men with an unusual and varied past between them, both tending to a little son, quietly finishing coffee, perusing the newspaper. “I have always wished to ask you something,” Otis ventured.

“Ask away.”

“Way back then, after I moved past my gratitude for your generosity, and my feelings of horror over what had happened, I began to wonder if you had paid my debts to lord it over me.”

Sidney’s brow knitted and he shook his head, no.

“Yes, I understood later I was mistaken. But I am curious; why did you?”

Sidney rubbed his jaw and considered his answer. “It’s a bit complicated. The main reason... I did it for Charlotte. Because of certain things she said to me while we searched for Georgiana, and after we left you outside Beecroft’s. I wanted her…to understand…that I heard what she said to me. But I also did sincerely wish to help you. To give you a second chance as someone once gave me. I have never regretted it. And,” he said with a tilt of his head and a wink, “you have certainly proved a sound investment.”

Charlotte came in, appearing a bit pale but cheerful. “Talking investments so early in the morning, gentlemen?” She took a seat next to Sidney, kissed Adam, poured a cup of tea, and took a piece of half eaten toast from his plate. “Is Georgiana about?”

“She always takes a tray in her room,” Otis said.

“Ah, yes. I knew that. A bit fuzzy this morning. We are to visit at Trafalgar House today. And you are returning to London this morning?”

“Yes, I have appointments I must keep, but I shall return for the _grand regatta_ ,” Otis smiled.

“I need your rowing prowess, my friend. Tom says he is too old and will be the cox again this year.”

“And you shall have it.”

“Otis,” said Charlotte, “Sidney tells me you and Georgiana are considering the trip to France with us?”

“We discussed it and lean that direction should you choose to go, if you do not mind, that is to say. I am afraid I have several motives, one being the opportunity to work directly with the French Abolition Society. They are a rather timid organization right now, elite, you might say. I'm sure you know that France previously abolished slavery, then Napoleon restored it in the colonies in 1802, where the trade still thrives today. The Society seeks to end it, again, but it is a fledgling movement.”

“And you could leave your work here for that length of time?” Sidney asked as he set Adam down next to Charlotte. The little boy stretched his arms across his mother’s lap and rested his head; she combed his dark curls with her fingers.

“We have capable persons to leave in charge, so I believe we can. But... my dear friends, London calls, so I must be off. I will take this boy to his mother and bid you adieu for now. Many thanks for your gracious hospitality.”

“We are family,” Charlotte said.

“Indeed, we are. Until next week.”

“Safe travels,” said Sidney. Otis nodded and set about calling for his carriage and saying goodbye to his wife.

Sidney reached to Charlotte and kneaded the back of her neck. She dropped her head forward and sighed. “Are you feeling queasy already?” he asked.

“A little.”

“Shall I get you something?” he asked. “More toast?”

“Ummm, dry toast, please.”

Amelia left her book and came to Charlotte’s side. “Are you unwell, Mama?” 

“No, no,” she replied, pulling Amelia to her and nuzzling her plump cheek, “just a little tired. Now, take your book and your little brother to Nanny in the schoolroom.” Amelia did as she was told.

Sidney returned from the sideboard with a plate of toast and strawberries straight from the garden, hoping to tempt her a little. “I have work to attend to, and I shall write to Arthur and send inquiries to the same company that arranged our travel to Paris.” He cupped her face bringing his close, “But hear me, we do not have to go. I will not be disappointed if you decide against it. I care only for you and your comfort and happiness.” She stroked his cheek and kissed him long and sweetly. “Are you all right if I leave you now?” he asked.

“Of course. I feel better already.”

“Take the curricle, better not to walk today. It’s quite warm out already. Give my love to Mary and to Tom if he materializes. Let me know when you leave.” He stood, kissed the top of her head, and retired to his study.

She toyed with a bright red berry, admiring its perfect little cap, a frilly green star. The morning sun cascaded through the open window along with the sweet scent of grass being scythed. Eight years ago she had left the familiar security of Willingden behind and journeyed to Sanditon for her first great adventure. Now she was the mother of three, a fourth on the way, and married to her true love, a man so perfect for her he seemed conjured from a romance novel. Her life was comfortable and secure. She pondered whether it was time to leave her warm protected spot and venture again out into the great unknown. It wasn’t only about what she wanted after all, but her family. The reverie was broken by commotion in the hall as the great Captain Parker of the _HMS Caledonia_ engaged in spirited swordplay with pirates, followed by Nanny Grey’s heavy footsteps and calls of “Master Jay, that will do!”

###

“You do not have to go,” Georgiana huffed. “These people have nothing to give. They only wish to take.”

“They are connections, and vital to the health of the movement,” Otis replied, frustrated to again have this particular discussion. Crockett was finishing Georgiana’s hair. “Crockett could you give us a moment, please.” She curtsied and left.

“A ridiculous statement. What have they done for the movement? They simply use you, or _your_ money to be more precise, for every little pet cause that strikes their fancy. They are like stray cats. They want a warm place to sleep and a bowl of milk from you, but give nothing in return.”

“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? The money.”

“We agreed, Otis, that I would always be an equal partner in deciding where _our_ money was spent. Now I find I have no input.”

“Not true and you know it. Now, I am going. I will return Wednesday, Thursday at the latest. Can you stop pouting long enough to kiss me goodbye?”

She reluctantly let him pull her into his arms, but softened as he kissed her. “I am weary of the constant presence of the movement in our lives. I am not inferring the work is not important. I am tired of it being all consuming.”

He could tell she was giving in a little as he ran kisses down her neck. “You knew who I was when you married me. God knows you kept me dangling long enough.”

“And you knew who I was and still am. That is what upsets me.”

“True, but we have both made compromises, have we not? Now my love, I must go, the carriage waits.” He picked Georgie up and gave him a kiss. “George my boy, take care of your mother while I am away.”

She stroked his face. “Be careful, Otis.”

“I always am.” He kissed the palm of her hand, set Georgie down, and was on his way.

###

The curricle clipped along the grassy path under a brilliant blue sky. Charlotte and Georgiana sat in easy quiet most of the way, each lost in her own thoughts. Mary was elated to see them. In the two years Georgiana lived at Trafalgar House, she and Mary forged a strong bond. Tom’s comportment during that time was often erratic, grumbling about Sidney one moment, then crowing about new designs the next. Sidney did his best to keep his brother on an even keel, but inevitably Mary bore the brunt of Tom’s unpredictability, especially as the children grew older and began to question their father’s moodiness. Mary and Georgiana worked as a team, keeping the children occupied, the tone light. Many tears were shed, including her own, when Georgiana reached her majority and decided to move to London. Sanditon would always hold a cherished spot in her heart.

Today the conversation turned to visiting the trio in Provence. Charlotte, after first swearing them to secrecy, broke the news she was expecting again, and her dilemma about traveling and most likely having the child in France.

“Well, that settles it for me,” said Georgiana. “I will be there for you if you decide to go. Have no fears about that.”

“I wish I could be,” Mary added. “How I would _love_ to get away for a long while.” 

Jenny and Alicia came to their mother just then, arguing passionately over a pair of shoes that belonged to one, but worn and dirtied by the other, and crying, “Mama, you must tell her not to wear my things!”

And then, “You wear my things all the time!”

Mary sighed and shook her head. “Girls. Worse than boys any day. Excuse me.” She left to referee before it turned into a bloodbath.

Georgiana rolled her eyes. “They make the Beaufort sisters seem enjoyable.”


	3. Crockett

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short but necessary chapter.

We illuminate the life of one who lives in the shadows.

**The Ninth of June, 1827**

_Sanditon_

For the bulk of her life, Mathilde Crockett had been invisible, living on the edges of Georgiana’s, yet intricately bound within the heart of it. Mathilde was given to Georgiana for her tenth birthday, replacing the ancient woman who had nursed and cared for Georgiana since infancy. A mere five years older, Mathilde became more of a sister than a caregiver to her mistress, dressing her as if she were a doll, plaiting her hair, rubbing creams into her skin. The emotional bond between them indelible, but the relationship always that of mistress and servant. 

As Georgiana grew, Mathilde would occasion to save a cast off dress or other piece of finery, stowing it away among her meager belongings in hopes that someday her own daughter could wear it, and even though she knew this would be impossible, it nourished the small hope inside her. She did not possess the beauty and charm of Georgiana’s mother that so stirred the master to make her his wife. The possibility her own life would take such a turn was little to nothing. Still, she was treated well, never sold, and freed upon George Lambe’s death, as were all his slaves. Georgiana was seventeen; Mathilde was two and twenty.

Then Sidney Parker assumed the role of guardian and removed Georgiana from Antigua to England as George Lambe had specified. Mathilde’s mistress was aghast, angry, and spiteful to be taken from the luxury of her Colonial world and St John’s. But Mathilde Crockett, now a free woman, was secretly ecstatic to leave the misery and slavery behind. An adventure to a new place so very different than the world she knew was more than she could ask for. She would be paid for her services now, meagerly, but it was something. 

London was unlike anything Mathilde or her mistress had ever seen. Mr Parker settled his ward near his London family home on Bedford Place, under the care of an indifferent governess, and gave Georgiana free run to purchase gowns and fashionable clothing. When she turned eighteen, she attended her first Season, with rounds of galas and balls. She would recount these great festivities to Mathilde in delicious detail upon her return. At one of those balls, her mistress met Otis Molyneux, and the world as she knew it changed forever. Within days the furtive meetings between the two began, arranged through notes carried to and from by Mathilde. She would watch guard as her mistress and Mr Molyneux kissed and carried on wherever they could find a bit of privacy. When Mr Molyneux gifted to her mistress his likeness in a locket, Georgiana ascended into such an overpowering state of euphoria Mathilde felt aching concern for the first time.

Although Mr Parker paid little attention to his ward and allowed her free rein, such levels of emotion could hardly go unnoticed. Within two months the affair and illicit meetings came to his attention. Upon delving into Mr Molyneux’s background, Mr Parker discovered the man’s appetite for gambling and his significant debts. It was no great leap to conclude Mr Molyneux was after Georgiana Lambe’s fortune, and protecting that fortune and the child it belonged to was Mr Parker’s solemn duty, a vow he made to a dying man.

Thus, Mr Parker made arrangements to send his ward to the provincial town of Sanditon under the care of Mrs Augusta Griffiths. Mathilde knew from the arguments between her mistress and the guardian that Mr Parker realized in focusing on investing and growing her fortune, he failed to attend to Georgiana’s needs as a young woman. In what surely was an overreaction to his neglect, he decided to place her with a pious and strict overseer in a faraway place.

Mathilde would never forget the row that occurred the night before Georgiana’s departure, when Mr Parker caught Mr Molyneux in the Bedford Place townhouse he rented for her, kissing and fondling his ward. She had never seen Mr Parker in such a state of white hot anger as he picked up Mr Molyneux by his lapels and threw him out the front door. He took Georgiana to her room and locked the door from the outside, trapping her in for the night. Mathilde had slept outside the door on the floor, listening to her mistress sob. It was that moment that Georgiana’s hatred for her guardian began. In her heart, Mathilde knew Mr Parker had been in the right, but a young man such as he, with no wife or children, knew not how to manage a young capricious woman such as Georgiana. 

And so began the days in Sanditon. Georgiana’s unrelenting fits of anger and lashing out at anyone who crossed her. She once ripped off a string of pearls and threw them against the wall, breaking the string and scattering the pearls across the floor. Mathilde had gathered all the pearls and gave them to her mistress, but later found four more. Georgiana threw them out the window. As soon as she could, Mathilde went outside and hunted for them, finding three. She kept them in a secret place, for they were as valuable as gold coins, and her mistress had thrown them away.

Then came the letters again from Mr Molyneux, both Mathilde and Miss Heywood ferrying communications between the separated lovers. The kidnapping, the despair, the constant battles between Georgiana and her caretaker, her guardian, her only friend, Miss Heywood. Mathilde listened but said nothing. She was never asked for advice and therefore gave none. That did not mean she had no opinion.

When Mr Parker and Miss Heywood finally married, and the relationships were mended, the move to Trafalgar House gave much needed peace to mistress and servant. A sense of contentment settled in over Georgiana. Mathilde made friends with several of the Parker family servants and the children were a pleasant distraction. Mr Tom Parker often caused distress in the household, but it did not affect Mathilde. The two years there was a blissful time for her.

Uprooted again by her mistress’s majority and move back to London. The reappearance of Mr Molyneux, back home from the Navy, changed for the better, no longer the cocky dandy Mathilde had perceived him to be. Mathilde had dressed her mistress in her wedding gown, wiped her mistress’s brow and held her hand as she gave birth. She listened to the discussions of abolition and black servicemen’s rights, all the while toiling as a servant for a meager salary, sleeping on a cot in a tiny room adjoining her mistress’s dressing chamber, always at the beck and call, the every whim of her mistress, with few worldly possessions to her name.

Once again, her mistress pouted, this time over her breakfast tray in bed, in a guest room in the home of Mr Sidney Parker and his wife, Charlotte. Mr Molyneux had left the day before, and before he did the usual disagreement arose, Mathilde asked to leave. How ironic the disagreements were always over the mission to give rights to black men, when at two and thirty years old, the chance of Mathilde ever having real freedom, her own life, her own husband, her own family was as remote as flying to the moon. Mathilde Crockett was resolved to her fate. She would die an old woman in the perpetual service of her mistress, forever being sent from the room, forever in the shadows.


	4. Lord and Lady Babington

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for the wonderful comments. There are many, many threads in this story, so the buildup will be a long and hopefully intriguing one.

Lady Denham’s legacy. A quiet moment.

**The Twelfth of June, 1827**

_Sanditon_

“I’m not sure where we should put these pieces,” Charlotte said to Esther. “What do you think?”

The items in question were hand built, fired stoneware plates, decorated with shells and stones, a first time contribution to the fancyworks section, the bazaar now two days away.

Lady Esther Babington feigned attentiveness, but she had long since lost any real interest in her late aunt’s pet project. It was Babington, after all, who finally convinced her she needed to take over the charity bazaar. Sidney had a frank discussion with Thomas about how difficult it was for Charlotte, and it was in the Denham family's best interest for someone related to keep it up, or at least participate, since the Denham name was forever attached. Knowing Charlotte, Esther surmised the woman would have continued the yearly event in perpetuity without complaint if Sidney had not put his foot down.

According to Lady Denham herself, both during her life and later when Esther read through her papers and diary, it was Charlotte who had always done the bulk of the work, who had the ideas. This was the reason Lady Denham had asked her in the first place. Her aunt took credit for the undertaking that Charlotte made happen. In that way, Lady Denham was not unlike Mr Tom Parker. Lady Denham always presided over the opening ceremony and gave a speech, as if it was all her doing, rarely even mentioning Charlotte. In later years they brought in London celebrities to speak on the stage with Lady D, often facilitated by Sir Francis as a favor to Charlotte.

“Oh, I don’t know. What about with the shadowboxes?” said Esther with a sigh.

“Yes, but we will need another table then.”

“Oh, I do not care, Charlotte, do you really think anyone notices where things are placed?”

“I found in the past if we group like things they sell better. Someone looking for an embroidered sampler might be interested in other needlework if it is nearby. Our point, of course, is to sell as much as possible.”

The first year of the bazaar they had just enough contributions for two stalls, and they sold everything. Each year became more ambitious, as Charlotte worked year round encouraging ladies from up and down the coast from Brighton to Eastbourne to contribute their handmade fancywork for charitable causes. As the years passed, the fancyworks became more elaborate and varied, all types of needlepoint, beautifully made wooden shadowboxes filled with dried flower arrangements, tapestries, paintings, all manner of crocheted and knitted pieces.

The second year, Charlotte had gone to the merchants and convinced them to donate their wares – a pair of shoes, or a hat, or ribbons, or pastries. She argued it would bring them business, and she was correct, it did. The next year, “the ask” was twice as easy, until the event was overloaded with donations from merchants alongside the fancyworks for sale. She later booked attractions such as musicians, magicians, and vendors with food booths. They began charging an entrance fee. They no longer needed to advertise.

Many ladies, especially Mary, Diana and Georgiana, assisted in the endeavor. Using their creative and social skills in public all while participating in a perfectly acceptable philanthropic venue satisfied the ladies in a way nothing else could. Often the fancywork creators would work the stalls where their pieces were sold. Men and women were free to mingle in public, and flirting was even encouraged with the stalls staffed by pretty women using their charms to tempt the gentlemen to buy. A little flirtation with the opposite sex was an exciting bonus for everyone and created the social scene that brought out the Beau Monde, who then stayed for the Regatta the next day and the Midsummer Ball the day after. Apartments were booked solid. It became the three day Sanditon main event of the summer. It put Sanditon on the map.

###

“Oh Babington, it is such a frightful bore,” Esther moaned. “Some lady from Seaford complaining she does not like the stall her doilies are placed in, another from Newhaven saying the food stall is too close by. How did Charlotte ever manage it with little ones on top of it?”

The frequency and timing of Parker and Babington children were remarkably similar, both couples with three children close in age, so Esther could relate first hand to what Charlotte must have experienced.

“According to Sidney, it took everything she had. First to please your aunt, then last year it was Tom Parker who pushed her to continue because it was an event for Sanditon. I understand you do not care for it, my dear Esther, but try to be happy this year. We can figure something out for the next. Trust me, I do not enjoy dealing with Tom Parker and his project, but that is what your aunt wanted. And I feel good about giving Sidney a break from it all.”

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, Thomas. I like Charlotte, truly I do. I simply wonder if it is exhausting to be so good all the time.”

“I think that is her nature, Esther. She turned Sidney Parker into the happiest married man I have ever seen, besides myself, of course.”

“Of course.” Her smile was dark and sweet as licorice.

“I still laugh when I think how the three of us, Parker, Crowe and me, stood before you ladies at that first ball. All three of us married the one we selected to dance with.”

“Sidney did not select Charlotte; she was the last one.”

“Oh no, my dear. He made it abundantly clear she was his choice. Now, you were my first choice, although Sidney did not know that. I had no interest in Miss Heywood, but Crowe on the other hand…”

“And how did he make it clear? Did he tell you?”

“By the way he said her name; the way he looked at her. Old friends just know those things.”

She rose from her chair and went to his, then slid down into his lap. As Esther’s demeanor was always on the cool side, her husband wholeheartedly accepted her display of affection. He enfolded her in his arms and relished her kisses. “Babington?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Promise me you will never let me turn into my aunt.”

“Ahh, I assure you that is a promise I will gladly make and keep.”

###

“Are they asleep?”

“Yes, even Captain Parker, finally.”

“I knew that would happen, as soon as Otis started the pirate story.”

Sidney sat behind his desk in the study, reviewing shipping paperwork. Charlotte closed the door and went to him, straddling him in the chair. He slipped his hands over her round backside and pulled her close. She played with the buttons on his waistcoat.

“Where does he come by all that vigor?” she said.

“Where does Amelia come by all those thoughts?”

“I can only wonder what Adam will be like; he’s so sweet now.”

“I think he will be the sensible brother,” he said with a tiny smirk.

“Of the two? You said this one will be a girl. Does that mean you expect a fifth?”

“Is there room in the locket?”

“Yes.”

“Then we shall see.”

“Let us get through this one first.”

“Let’s just get through the rest of the week. I spent one hour with Tom today and I left feeling I needed a drink. It’s as if he can never accept the status quo, no matter how good it is. Everything has to be bigger and better. Sometimes I worry Jay might have the same character.”

“But Jay does not have the same parents.”

“It is a fine line, keeping his feet on the ground but not crushing his spirit.”

“I think we can meet that challenge.”

He nestled kisses into the hollow of her throat. “I think I would like to take you to bed.”

“I will not complain.”

“I thought not.”


	5. Fathers and Sons, Mothers and Daughters

**The Thirteenth of June, 1827**

_Sanditon_

“Jay, I think we should ride today. It has been some time and surely Titan is longing for a good run.”

The Parker family took breakfast together as was their custom. Crockett had come earlier for Georgiana’s tray that little Georgie would share in her room. Otis was expected to return from London at any time.

Jay’s eyes widened and his handsome little face broke into a grin. “Yes! I should like that, Papa.”

For his sixth birthday, Charles had gifted Jay with a beautiful Fell pony, a native breed to Cumberland, home to the Copeland estate. As Sidney’s horse was named for the Greek god, _Apollo_ , Jay chose _Titan_ for his striking brown pony with black points and fine feathered hair at his heels, a flowing mane and tail.

Jay’s parents had lain in bed for some time the previous night, determining the best course of action to guide their lively, impressionable son. Charlotte reminded Sidney riding Titan seemed to focus and calm the boy, and he had not been out with Jay for at least two weeks.

“Yes, you’re right. I will take him in the morning.”

When Sidney and Jay entered the stable, both Apollo and Titan nickered happily to see their favorite people. Mr Bainbridge, the stable master, always gentle with the boy, had him assist with tacking, going through all the steps from picking Titan’s hooves to sliding on the bridle. Then up in the saddles and out they trotted into the clear June morning.

The previous September, the family stayed for a month up north with Alison and Charles. With two daughters at the time, now three, Charles savored the chance to teach little Jay the ways of horses, culminating in the gift of Titan. Sidney and Jay rode nearly every day for months when they returned, then Jay seemed to lose interest, and Sidney became absorbed in work and Sanditon. Charlotte was right, they needed to ride together more often for both their sake.

Jay was a confident rider for his age and understood his horse intuitively. Father and son trotted along the grassy cliff path, all the way into Sanditon and down to the beach where they galloped for a short time, then back up to the cliff path. They continued on to a favorite place where stone outcroppings overlooked both the Sanditon beach in the distance and the rocky cliffs below. Jay called it “the talking spot,” as they often stopped to rest the horses and have a conversation. Today was no different.

“Mama was cross with me last night,” he told his father.

“What makes you think that?” Sidney asked. He was relieved Jay broached the subject first.

“This.” Jay pursed his lips and turned his head to the side, his brow furrowed and one eyelid twitching.

Sidney couldn’t help but laugh. It was as if Charlotte herself sat next to him. “Yes, I know _that_ look. Why was she cross do you think?”

“Pirates.”

“Too much with pirates, is more accurate. She was not the only one unhappy with you, was she?”

“Nanny.”

“And?”

“Amelia.”

“And?”

“You.”

“Do you know why?”

“Because I was being silly, not _attending_ as Nanny says. I feel weary sometimes, Papa, with Nanny and lessons. I know I should be better, but I…it feels good to be silly.”

“But then not so good after.”

“Not so good after.”

“Hmmm… Mama and I were talking about that last night. We’ll speak to Nanny about giving you small breaks during lessons, but you have to help yourself, too, by noticing _when_ you start to feel like being silly, or you feel frustrated. Ask Nanny for a few minutes to go outside and jump up and down, or come talk to me… anything instead of exploding. So your feelings are not crashing into the rocks like the waves below; they roll out slowly, as the waves do on the beach. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I think so. I catch myself before I start.”

“Yes, that’s exactly right. Will you try? It will take some work. Then, if you can go a month without bursting into silliness in the schoolroom or at table or when you should be sleeping, we can do something special?”

“Like what?”

“We can decide together. We will start counting the month today. Can you do that?”

“I will do my best. I promise.”

Sidney wrapped his arm around his first son and together they watched the waves roll onto Sanditon beach.

Down in Sanditon at that moment, Tom Parker walked with his first son, Henry, through the grassy meadow set up with rows of white pavilions. “Someday my boy, this will all be yours.”

“But what about James?”

“James is my second son. He can help you, perhaps, as Sidney has helped me.”

“But your father had a shipping business, as Uncle Sidney does.”

“Yes, and it came to me when he passed. But it was not my real interest, so I sold it to do the work here.”

“So where did Uncle Sidney’s come from?”

“Why, he built it.”

“But what if I do not want to do this? What if I want to be a surgeon or a poet?”

“Well, Sanditon is in your blood.”

“Was not shipping in your blood?”

Tom stopped and scanned the surroundings. “Ah, look, there is Charlotte. We must say hello.”

Charlotte had been checking all was ready for the _fancy faire_ tomorrow. Although it was Esther’s responsibility, Charlotte wished no last minute surprises as she sensed Esther was not fully engaged in the effort. Charlotte had already thought about next year, and the possibility of creating a board of ladies to run the event. She had no desire to do the bulk of the work yet again, especially since next summer she would have four children ages 7 and a half to six months.

As she went through her checklist, counting the tables and pavilions, comparing with her map of the stall placement, she came upon Tom and Henry. Tom approached his zenith as the three day extravaganza neared. “Ah, Charlotte. I thought Lady Babington would be here.”

“Just making sure all is in order,” she replied. “Henry, good to see you.”

Henry nodded and watched the exchange.

“Guess we just can’t keep you away, can we? The lure of Sanditon.”

Tom did not notice the expression that crossed Charlotte’s face. Henry, however, did.

“I simply feel an obligation to the cause, Tom. So many ladies put an effort into the sale, all to help others, I would not wish it to go awry. I am always happy, of course, that it gives a boost to the regatta the next day.”

“Yes, it was a stroke of genius for me to suggest you use the pavilions for the regatta so we could hold the events back to back.”

Ordinarily Charlotte would have allowed Tom’s comment to slide past her without response, but she was tired, feeling queasy and unsettled, and she spoke without thinking. “No, Tom, it was my idea, not yours. We argued about it if you will remember, and in the end I offered to rent the pavilions from you. I told you that if we had to put up our own, the sale would be as much as a week away from the regatta, where as if we used yours, we could do the events one after the other. That is how it happened. And we still pay you for the use of your tents and now rent even more that we leave up for you to use when we are finished, and we do not ask for reimbursement.”

Tom stood, mouth agape. He blinked several times. “Yes, and I will expect the payment when the faire is finished. Thank you Charlotte. We’ll be moving along. Come Henry.”

Henry gave his aunt a gentle hug and a sweet smile. He was taller than she, all nose and teeth as eleven year olds can be, with chin length silky blond hair and clear blue eyes. “See you tomorrow, Aunt Charlotte.”

**The Fourteenth of June, 1827**

_Sanditon_

Charlotte was up early and kissed a sleeping Sidney goodbye. He growled and pulled her down. “No, it is Esther’s job now. You do not need to go so early.”

“I cannot take the risk. I promise, this is the last year. Bring the children later. Georgiana and I must be off.”

“She’s up?”

“Yes, she is up and we had breakfast together.”

Sidney rubbed his eyes. “I’m speechless. Truly I have underestimated the power of female friendship. But… Mrs Parker, this is the last year.”

“I promise. I will make it up to you.” She leaned back into him and nipped his lower lip.

“I will make a list.”

“I look forward to _reading_ it with you.”

###

 _The Ladies’ of Sanditon Sale_ was in full swing with more visitors than ever before. The stables couldn’t accommodate all the carriages and horses. The aisles between stalls offered little space or air with all the bodies crushing through. Fiddle music floated through the crowd, along with the aroma of roasted meats and fresh bread. Sidney and Otis, who had returned the previous evening, finally found Charlotte in the mass of humanity, both holding their little sons for fear of losing them in the crowd. Sidney had Amelia by the other hand. “Where is Jay?” Charlotte asked over the din.

“With Henry and James. Henry is sworn to see after him or suffer the wrath of Uncle Sidney.”

“I must find Georgiana,” Otis said.

“She’s working a booth in that aisle,” Charlotte pointed.

“Meet us at the river,” Sidney called after him.

“Amelia, come to me.” Charlotte held her hand out to her daughter. “I have a few things to do. I will keep her with me.”

“We’ll be at the starting line for the races tomorrow. Meet us there.” He kissed her forehead and merged into the crush, Adam in his arms, his top hat visible above the others as he made his way through the throng.

The crowd was too thick to pass safely with a little one next to her, so she carried Amelia. She tried to remember what she was supposed to do. Someone, somewhere, in some stall had asked for something…it was all a sea of noise and smells and colors, and then, there, behind a tent…was that…Jenny? _Jenny_? Kissing a _man_? Jenny?

“JENNY PARKER!”

The girl broke away from the man, yes he was a young man, not a boy. And yes, it was Jenny. She turned scarlet, first looking mortified, then defiant. _Defiant_. Charlotte could not believe it.

“Young man,” she spat, “that girl is but fourteen years old. Do you make it a habit to defile young girls? Kindly take your leave or I will call my husband, this girl’s uncle, and he will gladly break you in half.”

The man turned on his heel and disappeared. Charlotte marched over. “Good grief, Jenny. What were you thinking? Do you care nothing for your reputation? For your family name? You are a _child_.”

“You have no business interfering in my life,” Jenny hissed back.

“I am afraid I do. Come with me, now.” She took her by the arm and led her to the stall where Mary was working with several other ladies. Jenny wriggled and tried to get away, but Charlotte would not release her grip. “Whether you face this now or later, Jenny Parker, you will have to answer to your mother. I suggest you do it now.”

She pulled Jenny through the crowd, having no idea where she found the strength. Amelia cowered, her face buried in Charlotte’s neck. Mary was where she was expected to be. Charlotte motioned to her with a nod, still not releasing Jenny’s arm. They moved out of the flow of traffic. Charlotte explained what she saw. Jenny kept her insolent attitude. Mary’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened, then her face collapsed with sorrow. “Jenny…” was all she could say. At first, her urge was to slap her daughter, but she could not bring herself to do so. Instead she embraced her. Somehow, some way, she and Tom had failed Jenny. She had to put it right.

Jenny began to cry. Mary began to cry. Charlotte began to cry. Amelia followed suit.

“If anyone is looking for me, I have gone home,” said Mary. She and Jenny walked away, their arms around each other.

Charlotte made her way to the river. Amelia was still crying, so she found a quieter place to stop. She put Amelia on her feet and knelt down. “I am sorry, my sweet girl, that you had to see and hear all that.”

“Was Jenny bad?”

“Amelia, what Jenny did was not right, but I do not think she really understood what she was doing.”

“So that means she wasn’t bad?”

“It means she was... misled.”

“Is it bad to kiss a man, Mama?”

“No, it is not bad to kiss a man, but it is not proper to kiss a man you have no feeling for, especially when you are such a young girl.”

“When did you first kiss Papa?”

“When I was two and twenty.”

“Had you known him for a long time?”

“Not a long time, but long enough to know I loved him and wanted to marry him.”

“Why did she do it?”

‘I do not know. Sometimes girls that age have silly notions about love. Some day you will find the right man, but it will not be as it is in novels. It will be special to you two alone. Now come, let us find your father and brother.”

They headed for the river, hand in hand.


	6. The Regatta

**The Fifteenth of June, 1827**

_Sanditon_

Mary awoke with a throbbing pain behind her eyes. Though it was still quite early, Tom had long left their bed chamber. Her attempts to discuss with him the gravity of the situation with their daughters, Jenny in particular, largely went unnoticed. It was the regatta today, and Tom Parker’s mind, soul and spirit had no room for anything else. He was livid about the state of the grounds after the bazaar, yet largely unperturbed his own young daughter had been sullied in plain sight by some unknown man.

She heard last evening the bazaar had been a huge success money-wise. Charlotte and Georgiana had come by on their way back to Parker House to see how all was faring with Jenny. The three women agreed some unsavory aspect had surfaced at the event this year. Beyond the crushing crowd size and refuse left behind, there seemed an almost lewd atmosphere at times. They speculated that this element might have in part come from the temporary occupants of Denham Place.

Before he left for America in 1820, no doubt to fund his journey and new life, Sir Edward Denham had sold Denham Place to a pair of young London speculators. It was rightfully his to sell through the baronetcy he inherited from his uncle, Sir Harry Denham. The new owners did a modicum of improvements on the building, fixing the roof and attending to the overgrown landscaping. They rented it out to families and other groups, some taking it for the whole summer, and thus far it had been a welcome addition for housing visitors to the seaside resort. This year it appeared a large group of rather randy young London men had rented it out, and Mary feared it was one of them who had pursued her daughter.

Jenny was forbidden to leave the house that day. Mary would not allow her to attract any more attention from strange men, and judging from Jenny’s demeanor, she might very well seek it out. Miss Williams, the governess, would stay behind for the part of the festivities that Mary was obligated to attend. She would return to give the governess a chance to enjoy the events as originally promised.

At the breakfast table, Mary said to Henry, “You will stay with Alicia for the day. I will have no more improper encounters.”

Alicia flew into indignation. “So I am to be punished for the sins of my sister? I must have Henry tagging after me all day?”

“Then perhaps you would care to stay home entirely? Sanditon seems to have attracted a group of unprincipled young men this year, and I will not put a second daughter at risk.”

“Why do you not trust me?”

“I trusted Jenny and look what happened. Prove to me I can trust you by doing as I ask.”

“Look at it this way, Alicia,” Henry said. “I cannot do what I wish either. You are not the only one affected here.”

Mary knew her request put an even greater strain on the children’s relationships, but she did not know what else to do. She was navigating through this storm by herself. She would speak to Charlotte about sending Jenny up to Cumberland to stay with Alison and Charles. Something had to change.

###

Adam’s cries from the nursery woke Charlotte, but Sidney was already headed out the door. The sun was at least an hour from rising. She dropped her head back onto the pillow, feeling as drained as she was when she went to bed. A few minutes later Sidney returned with Adam, who hiccuped between sobs. “He won’t go back to sleep in there, and I fear he’ll awaken the others. Let him fall asleep with us and I’ll take him back later.”

“Nightmare?”

“Apparently.”

He pulled the cover back over them, Adam on his chest and Charlotte curled into him, her head in the crook of his neck. She stroked the boy’s head, whispering, “Just a dream, just a dream. You’re safe.” The three of them drifted off, her arm over Adam, Sidney’s arms around both of them.

Then a second awakening came with a loud knock on the door. “Mr and Mrs Parker! Master Adam is not in his bed. Is he with you?” It was Nanny.

Sidney groaned. They had overslept. The sun was fully risen. “Yes,” Charlotte answered. “We’ll bring him out shortly.”

“It’s late,” she said, “I have to get over to the pavilions to see everything is cleaned up.” She started to rise but he stopped her.

“ _No._ That is Esther’s job, not yours. If it is not clean to Tom’s satisfaction, he can take it up with her. You and Georgiana were there far too late yesterday as it was.”

“Someone had to see to it.”

“It is _Esther’s_ job. As long as you keep undertaking it, why should she? I assure you Lady Babington did not miss dinner with her family last night as you and Georgiana did.”

“We also stopped to talk to Mary.”

“You missed dinner with your family. I should give Babington a piece of my mind.”

“You will not.”

“Want to pee,” Adam said. They had almost forgotten he was there.

“Wait!” She scrambled up, pulled the chamber pot from under the bed and set Adam down over it. He smiled, a happy little boy.

Sidney propped himself up on his elbow. She knelt next to Adam, her nightgown fallen off one shoulder, her long braid half loose; they both shunned wearing nightcaps. Her face was more sculpted now, and smile lines showed at the corners of her eyes. She was more beautiful than ever as she focused keeping Adam centered over the pot. He still wondered to himself how he ever managed to be so lucky to share his life with her.

“Finished,” Adam declared.

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

She looked up at Sidney, who was watching with the softest, most satisfied expression, just a hint of a smile.

###

They compromised, and all went down in the carriages after everyone finished breakfast, earlier than Sidney wanted, but later than Charlotte did. She wanted to be there when Lady Susan arrived, and hoped to speak to Mary. As they strolled down from the stable house, Otis and Georgiana stopped to speak with a group of acquaintances. The Parker family continued on. Tom now approached them, his long stride covering ground quickly, his face indignant.

“Your event left the grounds in an unacceptable condition, Charlotte. I am very displeased…” Before he could finish, Sidney stood between them. “Talk to Lady Babington about it. This is not Charlotte’s responsibility. She was here last evening far longer than she should have been.”

“Tom,” Charlotte said coming around to Sidney’s side. “A crew was cleaning up when I left last evening. The crowd was much larger than we expected. I am sure you will benefit from that today.”

“We have a contract,” said Tom.

“That Lady Babington signed this year, not I. You must take up your concerns with her. I hope all is well with Jenny. Is Mary about?”

“Jenny? Oh, yes, all that. I’m sure Mary sorted it out. You are _rowing_ are you not Sidney?”

“Yes, Otis and I are rowing.”

“Splendid, splendid,” Tom crowed. “We’ll, off to greet the Beau Monde. Enjoy!” He strolled off, twirling his cane.

“Why is Uncle Tom like that, Papa?” asked Amelia.

“Like what?”

“He’s very grumpy or very happy. No in between.”

“Honestly, Amelia, I do not know why, but if you come upon the answer, will you tell me?”

“Of course,” she replied as if she fully expected she most likely would. “Oh, look,” she pointed up the street, “it’s Susan’s carriage!” She turned to Charlotte, “May I run to greet her, please Mama?”

“Jay, take your sister to see Susan.”

They held hands and ran, laughing, towards Susan’s carriage, filled with anticipation as they waited before the door. When the great Lady stepped out, a lovely smile spread across her face. “Oh, children! How happy I am to see you!”

Jay gave his best bow. Amelia curtsied a bit wobbly. Susan opened her arms and they rushed into them, giggling as she gave them kisses. As usual, a small crowd now gathered around Lady Susan. Charlotte and Sidney caught up, and little Adam stood shyly next to his father.

“Look at him,” Susan said, “he has grown so much since I saw him last December.”

“Adam,” Charlotte said, “do you remember Susan? The Lady we visited in London at Christmas?” He buried his face in Sidney’s coat, then peeked out with a smile. Susan held out her hand and he went to her.

“Hello, Adam,” she said gently.

“Hello,” he smiled.

“Well, my heart has been stolen.” Murmuring and chuckles came from the crowd. “How I have missed you, my dears, come, let us walk.” She proceeded with one arm through Charlotte’s, the other Sidney’s. Jay took Adam and Amelia’s hands and led the way.

###

The sun was high in the sky when the Crowe carriage rounded the last bend and began the descent into Sanditon. Five year old Sophie sat next to her father and played with her dolly. Mrs Clara Crowe, on the other side, held two year old Robert in her lap as he slept.

“We will make it in plenty of time, love,” Clara said.

“Because I am so looking forward to rowing in the regatta,” Crowe replied with a twisted smile.

“You do it for your friends.”

“I suppose, but I can assure you they would both just as soon not participate either. Roped in by Tom Parker’s great notion.”

“We’ll have fun at the ball.”

“The only good thing that ever happened in this god forsaken place.” He reached over and took her hand. “The ball where I met you.”

The carriage arrived at Waterloo Terrace where the Crowe’s had taken an apartment for a few days.

Once settled, they meandered down to the tents and festivities, Clara remarking how very crowded it appeared this year. They first encountered the Babingtons, Esther in a heated conversation with Tom Parker. Clara recommended to her husband they steer clear, and with cordial nods, they passed by and headed to the children’s games, where they watched steeple chase and pitch stone, and competitions with marbles and tops.

Along the way they met up with the Sidney Parkers, and the two men, along with Jay, went down to ready for the gentlemen’s rowing race. Clara and Charlotte sat at a table under one of the pavilions and caught up with all the current news they wished to share. Truth be told, both women sincerely liked the other, but complicated relationships made them wary to share too much. Amelia and Sophie had no such concerns, always happy to meet up with each other. Robert and Adam were far too small to form an opinion.

The races were run, the Parker brothers plus Otis came in second, with a team from Eastbourne coming in first. Susan awarded the trophies. At one point, Charlotte spotted the young man who kissed Jenny the day before. She pointed him out to Sidney. The fellow noticed Charlotte, an expression of recognition passed across his face. Sidney narrowed his eyes and began walking purposefully towards the man, who turned and ran. "If I catch you anywhere my niece, I _will_ break you in half," Sidney called after him.

The sun was getting low. Tired children and weary parents headed for carriages and comfort. The Ninth Annual Sanditon Regatta was over. Finally.


	7. The Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flashback chapter informing the next.

**The Third of September, 1820**

_Sanditon_

A few weeks before Jay was born, Charlotte, uncomfortable and restricted by her condition, asked Sidney to read one of her favorite books aloud with her for amusement. Sidney did not much care for ladies’ novels, but this was special to her, having first read when she was sixteen, and always wishing to please her, he agreed. As they dove further into the story, he found he enjoyed the writing. Charlotte teased him how much their early relationship had been like Elizabeth and Darcy’s, the misunderstandings, the verbal sparring. One evening after dinner, they sat before the fire in the Great room, reading, when Sidney said of Wickham, “What a cad this fellow is.”

Charlotte replied with a curt laugh, “As you were once.” 

He looked at her expecting to see a playful expression. There was none. “Were you not?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, stunned, “I may have been less than gentlemanly in some respects, but I was never a womanizer. I was never like that man. Never. Do you not know me?” She observed him impassively. He closed the book and set it on the table. “I have some work to do. I’ll be in the study. Don’t wait up for me.”

He felt unsure of her for the first time in their marriage. Her “insensible of feeling” remark had stunned him in the same manner, but she hardly knew him then. She had now been his wife for nearly a year. Is that what she thought of his past? Of him? A superficial seducer of young women? If anything, he had been considered unattainable. Mothers and fathers had paraded their daughters in front of him, inviting him for dinners and to events in the hopes he would take a fancy to one. Eliza herself had called him her “trophy,” as she succeeded in roping in the elusive Sidney Parker. 

Beyond those first months after Eliza spurned him at age eighteen, his visits to brothels were infrequent and never enjoyed beyond physical release. He always hated himself afterward, which led to no visits at all for at least a year after his return to London. The very hour before she had seen him at the coves, he had flatly declined the invitation from Crowe and Babington to join them in a “siesta” with two women they met at the Crown Hotel bar, because he had no interest. He was the one to stop himself, to show restraint before they married. She had been willing to give herself freely to him. 

He cherished her, body, mind and soul. He was not capable of separating the act from his love for her. They were inextricably and eternally intertwined. Was it not enough for her? Did he read too much into her words? Was she afraid he would leave her because she was with child? He poured his third brandy. More than he had in months. He knew he must speak to her, but he knew not what to say.

She waited for him in their bed, but he did not come. The baby kicked and moved inside her. She wounded him, she knew; but why she did, she was not certain. She had felt an inexplicable need to test him. Her mother’s words rang in her ears. _Never let the sun set on your anger_. This was not anger, but something far worse. She lit a candle and wrapped her shawl around her, heading to his study. The candles there were burnt out. A half glass of brandy sat next to his paperwork. He slept in his chair, chin to his chest.

She set the candle down on the desk and took his head in her arms, cradling it against her breasts, caressing and kissing his hair. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please forgive me.”

He woke, looking confused for a moment. He stiffened a little against her. “I am not that kind of man. Tell me you know that.”

“I do. I was afraid.”

“That I wouldn’t love you or want you after the child is born?”

“Yes, perhaps.”

“I will only love you more.” He rose and faced her. "I ask you to believe me."

“Come on.”

She helped him undress and snuffed the candle as they settled in. He held her, his hand over hers as the baby still kicked. “Every anniversary, every child’s birthday, every midsummer ball, we must remind ourselves of what we have, of what we’ve been given. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” she said.

_Pride and Prejudice_ was not seen again until ten year old Amelia discovered it behind the books on an upper shelf in the library, the marker placed at Chapter XII of Volume II, Mr Darcy’s letter.


	8. The Midsummer Ball

An easy morning. Mary’s dilemma. A ritual. The Ninth Annual Midsummer Ball.

**The Sixteenth of June, 1827**

_Sanditon_

Everyone slept through the night. Parents luxuriated in their beds that morning before rising to start the day that once again dawned clear and warm. All the staff had been given leave to attend the regatta the day before and welcomed a little extra time.

A convivial mood enveloped the breakfast table. When the children were finished, Otis presented them with gifts he brought back from London: wooden pull toys for Georgie and Adam, both hand carved and painted sparrows on wheels. The two boys towed them all about the house, yelping with laughter. For Jay, he brought a game of Jackstraws with brightly colored wooden sticks; and for Amelia a carved wooden baby doll in a christening gown. Amelia loved the dolly, but was far more interested in challenging Jay in games of Jackstraws.

Charlotte and Georgiana decided to pay Mary a visit, as neither had seen her or Jenny at the regatta, just a sullen Alicia with Henry on her heels. When they arrived at Trafalgar House, Jenny took one look at Charlotte and retreated to her room. Charlotte knew she would have to talk to the girl, but now was not the time.

“What does Tom say?” Georgiana asked Mary.

“He says it is up to me,” she shrugged. “This morning, one of the men, perhaps the same who was with Jenny, had the gall to call here. Can you believe it? I sent him away.”

“Shocking. I am so sorry, Mary. Even after Sidney warned him yesterday.”

“Did he?” asked Mary.

“He did. I saw the man and told Sidney. He went to talk to him, and the coward ran. The owners of Denham Place should be informed. It isn’t good for Sanditon’s reputation.”

Georgiana shook her head. “Do you suppose they will come the ball tonight?”

“More to worry about,” Mary exhaled sharply, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. “Well, I have written to Alison. I hope she can take Jenny for a while. Get her away from all this. I wonder if I should ask about Alicia, too. Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier to lock them both in a room and let them battle it out.”

They laughed, a bit mirthlessly.

“Alison will put them to work; I can assure you. She suffers no fools gladly. Perhaps a stay up north would do both the girls good.”

“Well, let us speak of something else,” sighed Mary. “And what of your trip to France? Any news?”

“Sidney sent an inquiry to the travel company we went to Paris with. If they can arrange the trip all the way down to the coast and back, I suppose I will agree. We should hear soon.”

“How did it work last time, to Paris? Remind me,” Mary said.

“They have spacious, comfortable coaches you board in Dover. The coach goes directly on the ship to cross over to Calais, then off the ship, proceeding directly to Paris. There is a French speaking guide, and all the stops along the way are arranged at the best inns. Really, it was quite easy for us, but that was just to Paris.”

“And you were what, three months with Jay?”

“Yes, just starting to show. I will be four, even five this time, depending on when we leave.” She winced.

“So we would need three coaches for two families and servants,” said Georgiana.

“Would there be room for me?” asked Mary.

They both turned to her with pleased surprise. “Would you want to come with us?”

“Well, if the girls are with Alison, I can trust Henry to look after James. Events slow down and stop eventually here, which takes pressure off Tom. And,” she leaned in to whisper, “Henry knows his father. He’s a good boy, a good head on his shoulders, thank goodness.”

“I am sure we can _squeeze_ you in, Mary.”

“What a time we will have!” said Georgiana, “I so want to see those three!”

“What will Tom think?”

“Oh Charlotte, at this point I’m not sure I care what he will think.”

###

The afternoon went quickly once Charlotte and Georgiana returned, with lazy conversation on the terrace. The little ones were put down for a nap. Sidney, Otis and Jay had gone for sea bathing earlier, and when they returned, Sidney decided to take a bath to wash the salt away. As soon as he had settled in, resting with his eyes closed, Charlotte surprised him by getting in.

“Mrs Parker, you will make it spill over and we’ll be in trouble with Mrs Evans,” he teased her.

“I promise, I will not make any waves.”

“That would be a first.”

As the afternoon faded into evening, they enjoyed a light dinner with the children. Little ones were kissed and tucked in. The two ladies went to begin dressing for the ball, the men enjoyed a glass of port before changing. When the hour for leaving neared, Sidney entered Charlotte’s dressing room as Haskell, her lady’s maid, arranged her hair, with ringlets next to her face and the rest brought in rows of plaited braids to the crown, finished with ribbon and small white roses from the garden.

She had chosen a gown of rich green silk, the bodice cut low and off the shoulders, trimmed in white lace, with long, sheer puffed sleeves, and a sash belt. His waistcoat of darker green silk paired her to him. He stood and watched until Haskell finished. “Would you like to select your necklace, Mrs Parker?”

“Oh, thank you Haskell, I will confer with Mr Parker on that.” When she left, he pulled up a chair behind Charlotte, and caressed her bare shoulder with soft kisses. She tilted her head, watching him in the glass, her eyes half closed. He reached forward and placed a small square box in her lap. “Will this do?” he asked.

“Sidney, you do not always have to bring a gift.”

“I know I do not _have_ to; I want to. Open it.”

Inside was choker, a torsade of multiple strands of tiny seed pearls with an enameled gold clasp. “Oh, so beautiful, so delicate.”

He placed it around her neck and fastened the clasp. “And now, I will look at you tonight and think, I am the man who gave you this and put it around your neck.” He kissed her across the nape, just at her hairline. “And I will be the man who takes it off you.”

“Is it the only thing you will take off me?”

“Perhaps it should be the only thing I _don't_ take off you.”

“You are a rogue, Sidney Parker.”

“No, I simply love my wife.”

“And I love my husband.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed his cheek to hers. He spoke to her reflection in the glass. “Do we agree we are the luckiest people in the world?”

“Well, maybe there are other people who are just as lucky…”

“You’re right, we should not be greedy. We are _two_ _of_ the luckiest." He lightly bit her earlobe. "Now, have you earrings to wear?”

“Ah, yes, my pearls.”

She checked on the children while Sidney called for the carriage. Georgiana and Otis came from their room, Georgiana resplendent in a shimmering gold and silver gown, golden feathers in her hair; Otis with a matching gold waistcoat.

The men helped the ladies into their wraps and Georgiana pronounced, “Well, are we not a fine group?”

“Indeed,” the others agreed.

Music and dancing had begun when they arrived. Clara and Francis Crowe were on the floor in a Quadrille. The assembly rooms were more crowed than usual. Sidney and Charlotte had given up their balcony ritual several years prior, as it had become a spot for elicit trysts with the younger set. They made their vows now in her dressing room, as they had done tonight. The Babingtons arrived shortly after they did, and the six of them conversed over the music and crowd noise. Tom was in his element, circulating, talking with bold gesticulation and great laughs and occasional backslapping.

The next dance was the Duke of Kent’s Waltz, and the Parkers took a place in the line. Such a handsome and well-known couple they were, many eyes followed them, but they had eyes only for each other. They passed on the next dance when they saw Mary, hidden away in a corner with Mrs Hankins. More and more people packed into the rooms, the temperature rising and atmosphere stifling. Windows were opened to let in some air.

After an hour or so and another dance, the Parkers were engaged in a conversation with a couple they knew from London. Across the room, Clara and Georgiana were seated, deep in conversation. One of the young bucks from Denham Place, appearing to be a bit in his cups, approached Clara and asked her to dance. She glanced up and declined, saying she was sitting the dance out. He became agitated, and made a crude reference. Otis, who was returning with refreshments, handed the glasses to Georgiana and stood between the man and the ladies, telling him to leave. Crowe arrived, and a shouting match began, as another of the Denham Place men joined his friend.

Sidney looked at Charlotte, apology in his eyes, and told her to move as far away as possible. He crossed the room, weaving through the crowd. One man thrust his finger into Crowe's chest, who slapped the man’s hand away. The other shoved Otis, who pushed him back into the crowd that now scattered and watched with a mix of interest and alarm. As Sidney approached, the first man hit Crowe in the face. Blood appeared from his nose.

Sidney grabbed both by the back of their collars and with one fluid motion knocked their heads together, leaving both stunned. He motioned to Otis and Crowe to grab an arm, and the three walked the men out and threw them into the street. Sidney bellowed, “Pack your bags and leave Sanditon tonight. You are not welcome here.”

As they turned to reenter, two other young bucks came rushing out, saw their friends in the street and took to shouting and cursing.

“Are you looking to meet the same fate?” asked Otis.

“Get out,” Sidney told them, straightening his cravat. “Pack your bags and leave. Don’t ever return here.”

“And who do you think you are?” one snarled.

“Oh, you don’t know. I’m the man who will break you in half. Care to find out how I will do it?”

“We mean no trouble here,” said the other man. “We’ll leave.”

“All of you will leave. Tonight. If you are still here tomorrow, expect a visit.”

Crowe took his handkerchief out and dabbed his nose as they walked back inside.

“All right?” asked Otis.

“Ahhh,” said Crowe with a grin. “I’ll get sympathy for it tonight.”

The three friends were seen laughing as they strode back into the candlelit hall.


	9. The End of a Long Weekend

**The Seventeenth of June, 1827**

_Sanditon_

“I cannot believe I missed the entire encounter,” Babington said. “Where did you come up with _break you in half_ , Parker? I wish I could have seen their faces.”

“I can’t claim it; my dearest wife conjured the phrase.”

“Charlotte, did you truly?” Esther asked with a smirk.

“I was so disgusted by the ruffian pawing my fourteen year old niece…it just popped up.”

“Something you have always excelled in, my love.”

“Well, she married you Sidney, so the sight of you couldn’t have been _that_ bad after all,” jested Babington.

“ _Enough_ , gentlemen, thank you,” Charlotte said.

“Are they teasing you _Miss Heywood_ ,” asked Crowe.

“Not as much as they teased you about your pretty face, Mr Crowe.”

Around Crowe’s left eye was a colorful mix of black and blue. The four couples gathered for a quiet afternoon together without children in the Sanditon House drawing room. Tomorrow would be a travel day back to London.

“Seeing their two heads collide made up for any pain I may have felt,” he drolly replied.

“May we always have you on our side, Sidney, in all battles,” Otis said, raising his glass to him.

“To Sidney,” they toasted.

He smiled and shook his head. “With skulls as thick as theirs, I doubt they learned any lasting lesson.”

“But they are gone?” asked Clara.

Georgiana nodded. “Sidney and Otis went over early this morning. They had all left.”

“It seems little Sanditon is having growing pains. I wonder how long the vestry will be sufficient in handling the problems arising," said Babington.

“I wish you men didn’t always have to be the administrators of justice,” said Esther. Charlotte nodded in agreement.

‘If not us, who? It isn’t London, we don’t have constables, and soldiers only come by order of the magistrates. We’re lucky to have a few night watchmen,” said Babington.

“We are looking to petition the magistrates to appoint special constables for Regatta weekend next year, perhaps for the entire summer,” Sidney said, “but for now we must be our own enforcement. I plan to speak to the owners of Denham Place next I’m in Town. We can practice discretion over who rents our apartments, but have no such ability with the others.”

“Speaking of Denham Place, has there been any more news of Sir Edward?” asked Crowe.

“He still writes Esther every year or so. Last we heard he was in New York, engaged to a wealthy banker’s daughter,” said Babington.

“Do you think he will come back?” asked Georgiana.

“Who knows,” Babington replied.

“Knowing Edward, if he did he’d rent Denham Place, just to vex us,” Esther said.

“You never know,” said Sidney wryly. “Marriage can change a man, just look at Crowe.”

“Me? Look at yourself, Parker.”

“Look at all three of us,” Babington interjected.

“Four, I would add,” finished Otis.

The room was silent for a moment as the men looked at each other and then to women.

“Well, ladies,” Esther purred, “it appears we should congratulate ourselves on a task well accomplished.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Crowe said, “A toast, to the beautiful wives and mothers who made us the fine upstanding husbands and fathers we are today.”

“Amen to that.” Sidney raised his glass.

“Amen,” they all said, glasses raised.

###

In the soft light of a single candle, his dark eyes appeared black. He leaned back on the pillows against the headboard, slid one hand from her hips, where she sat astride him, and up her back, pulling her to him, their breathing starting to slow. He lazily combed his fingers through her hair. She ran hers across his collarbone, his shoulder and down his arm. She then stretched out her legs, rolled off and pushed herself down into the bed. He followed, arranging the pillows, both their heads on one, facing each other, resting on their sides.

“I am so happy this week is over,” Charlotte sighed.

“It was more difficult than usual, you’re right.”

“But worthwhile, for the children’s sake to live here, with clean air and nature all around. I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

“And we can go to Town anytime. We have the best of both worlds. Do you know what Jay told me yesterday when were out riding?”

“What?”

“He wishes his reward for keeping his impulses in hand to be going to London with me for the next shipment. He wants to see the ships and learn about it. Of all the things he could have asked for, he asked for that.”

“He adores you, Sidney. You do not see what I do, how he watches you, emulates you. Look how hard he is trying to do what you asked of him.”

“Yes. But I adore him, too, you know.”

“I know.”

He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms above his head. “Charles would give anything for a son like him. I have two, _and_ the most extraordinary four year old in all of Britain for a daughter. I’m a fortunate man, indeed.”

She propped up on her elbow. “I just thought of something. Mary wants to send the girls up to Cumberland, why not send all four? Charles would love to have Henry and James there.”

“And leave Mary all alone with Tom?”

“No, Mary asked to go with us, to France.”

“When did she say that?”

“Yesterday. I completely forgot to tell you.”

“So…does that mean a yes from you? I thought we were waiting to hear from the travel company and Arthur.”

“Well, yes, waiting, but… if it’s favorable, then yes.”

“Well, I would feel better if you had Mary there.” He turned and slid down his hand down to her belly and gently rubbed it. “You seem to be having an easy time so far with this one.”

“So far.”

“I wonder what Tom would do all by himself, no one to echo his thoughts off of. Mary and the children gone. Our family gone. Pity Babington.”

“He cannot make a muddle of anything financially?”

“Not with Sanditon. It’s iron clad. All handled by the solicitors. The only muddle he can make is with his own finances, and I washed my hands of that years ago.”

“You have gone far beyond what any man would have done for his brother, Sidney. You have right on your side.”

He sighed deeply. “Ah, yes, I hope. I cannot solve the problem of Tom Parker. But I can do what is right in my life.”

“And you have." She gave him a long, lingering kiss. “Time to sleep.” She leaned over and blew out the tiny remainder of the candle.


	10. A Decision

**The Third of July, 1827**

_Sanditon_

The beauty of the Parker House was not only in its thatched roof, thick leaded windows, massive stone chimneys, heavy carved wooden front door, old hand hewn beams, or inglenook fireplace, but the very place Joshua Parker chose to build it back in 1710. Two miles outside of Sanditon along the cliff drive, but set back from the sea, down in the vale.

Tom Parker had never cared for the spot, _in the hole_ he called it. He preferred his large modern home on the hill, its pale stones cut in symmetrical lines, overlooking the sea and the town. But during the winter the clime was more temperate at the old house than directly by the sea, and storms blew over the sheltered dip, whereas at Trafalgar House, the winds seemed to rock it on its foundation come stormy nights. During the summer, the old house was shaded by ancient trees, while Trafalgar House baked in the sun, Tom’s plantings still not large enough to afford much shade. Tom did not mind, and was happy to sell the old family home to Sidney and Charlotte, and indeed, they were even happier to buy it.

On the other side of the grassy road from the old house, a cut away path of about a mile, made generations ago, led gradually down the cliffs to a most private inlet, a stretch of sandy beach with a rocky cove on one end. Winter high tides and storms would take much of the sand away and leave a rock-strewn shore, but summer currents always replaced what the winter took away. This was the Parker's private seashore, simply because no one else could reach it. Often they came to bathe and stroll.

Today the answer had arrived from the travel company regarding the trip. Yes, they would be happy to arrange it, and this was the reason their reply was so long in coming, as the cost estimate took some time to assemble. They had previously taken a party all the way to Lyon, but this was the first to the shore of the Mediterranean. They would require at least two armed guards on horseback, which Sidney immediately thought might frighten Charlotte. He broached the subject carefully.

“Of course,” she said, “there are highwaymen there just as there are here. It would make sense that we have guards, as the company must guarantee our safety.”

The cost was high, but not unmanageable, and considering everything would be prearranged for them, it would be well worth it. They would, after all, be a party of five adults, four children (five coming back) and six servants.

He questioned himself, harshly at times, why he wanted this. Why did he wish to risk his precious family to make such a trip? Was it a risk, or did it merely seem one? He mused for days to decide what his motivation was. Boredom? The desire to see his siblings? A change of scenery? He couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason no matter how hard he tried.

This evening the five of them scrambled down the old path to the beach. No hats, bonnets or coats required. It was their little strip of sand, a part of their home. A flock of spindle-legged dunlins darted towards a retreating wave’s foam-fringed edge before taking wing in perfect synchronicity. A reef of clouds stretched across the horizon, wisps and curls flamed in golden hues tinged with crimson. The children ran and shouted, dancing along the water’s edge. Jay and Amelia held Adam’s hands between them.

The tide was coming in; a wave rushed towards them. Sidney swept Charlotte off her feet just in time to keep her skirt and shoes from getting soaked. She yelped gleefully, her arms around his neck. He kept her there; she rested her head in the crook of his neck. The children noticed Papa now carried Mama and ran back, concerned. “Is she unwell?”

“No, she is fine.”

“But why do you carry her?” asked Amelia.

“The same reason I carry you. Because I love her.”

She threw up her hands. “Of course,” and dashed off to her brothers.

He kissed her gently and set her down. She stroked his face, then hers took on an ethereal cast.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I had the oddest sensation that I have done and seen this before. Exactly this. Now I realize it was the dream I had, right after we were engaged. I told you, remember, at Bedford Place. We were walking on the beach, at sunset, as we had with Tom and Mary, with three children. But the children were not theirs. Not Jenny, Alicia and Henry. They were _ours._ These three children.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “We are meant to be.”

“We’ll go, Sidney. We will go to France.”

“You are certain?”

“I am certain.”

The pink and violet in the sky began to succumb to the indigo of evening. They gathered the children and headed up the path towards home.


	11. To London and Back

Take your son to work week. The seven year itch.

**The Eleventh of July, 1827**

_Sanditon_

Jay was two days shy of meeting his goal to keep his impulsive nature in check, but Sidney had a shipment coming in, and as Jay had far exceeded expectations, they loaded the newer Berline carriage for the two of them to travel to London.

“But you always ride in the summer, Papa. Why can’t I ride Titan with you?”

“Too far for you to ride.”

After embraces and kisses all around, Charlotte whispered into Sidney’s ear the same parting words she had for nearly eight years, but this time with something extra. “Come back to me. Both of you.”

And he gave the same answer, “You know I will,” and then added, “We will.”

Jay leaned out the window waving and blowing kisses until the carriage disappeared around the bend and out of sight.

**The Twelfth** through **the Fifteenth of July, 1827**

_London_

Sidney had to admit he was thoroughly enjoying his son’s company. Jay had grown by leaps and bounds in the past year, not only physically, but intellectually. His curiosity, reasoning abilities, sense of humor all made him a delightful companion rather than a little son to shelter and protect. He knew to stay close by; he observed his surroundings; he asked thoughtful questions. Sidney savored watching the crew of the _Swift_ unload its cargo as Jay stood in front of him, his hands resting on his boy’s shoulders, dock workers nodding and tipping their hats.

The previous day he met with the agents from the travel company to go over the itinerary and sign contracts. Jay sat next to his father, attending and observing.

“Excited to travel to France, young master?” one of the agents asked him.

“Yes, sir, very much so!”

As they left, one said to Sidney, “He’s a son to be proud of, Mr Parker.”

Sidney smiled down at Jay and stroked his head. “Indeed, I am.”

Afterward, they visited Georgiana and Otis at their townhouse on Chapel Street. Sidney dropped off the paperwork and contracts regarding the trip. Jay sat next to his father, listening quietly.

“What a fine young man you are becoming, Jay,” noted Georgiana.

Ordinarily Sidney would have returned to Sanditon the next morning, but the plan was to stay through the weekend and leave Monday. He took Jay to Astley’s Amphitheatre for a circus extravaganza with galloping horses and battle reenactments. They went shopping for a present for Mama, and browsed bookshops, ate flavored ices. 

###

_Sanditon_

Charlotte spent the days as usual. The French tutor came twice even though Jay was not there, Amelia and Adam took lessons, as did Charlotte, who had not spoken French since their trip to Paris seven years before.

Charlotte visited Mary, who was preparing to send all four of her children to Cumberland. The boys were excited to be with Charles and work with the horses. The girls were more than unhappy, mostly over being sent together. Charlotte spoke to Jenny, but she sat sullenly.

“Jenny, what if someone else had found you there and not me? People would have begun to whisper and gossip about you. All you have is your reputation, and it is not worth losing over some cowardly man who ran from your Uncle Sidney the moment he approached him. You heard what happened at the ball. Those men behaved uncouthly to women and even struck Mr Crowe. You will someday find a man far better than the likes of that.”

“So it was your idea to ship me off to your sister in the middle of nowhere?”

“No, it was not. Your mother decided it would be best for you. You like Alison. It’s beautiful up there. You can learn to ride.”

Jenny huffed. “May I go back to my room now?”

“Of course.” She was feeling a bit sorry for Alison just then.

**The Sixteenth of July, 1827**

_On the Road from London_

Monday morning early, Sidney and Jay headed out of London. “Did I make a good account of myself, Papa?”

“You did far more than that. Your mother will be very pleased when we tell her how well you did.”

“She will like her present.”

“I think she will, but she will not see it until September 20th. We’ll be in France by then.”

“Your anniversary. And _MY_ birthday!”

“The 30th of September.”

“I will be seven years old!”

“Not many boys in Sanditon, or even London, can say they celebrated their seventh birthday on the shore of the Mediterranean.”

They sat quietly for a while, watching London pass by. “I’m tired,” Jay said, yawning.

“I’m not surprised. You’ve had some busy days and up early this morning. Sleep if you like.”

Sidney opened up his arm so Jay could rest against him. Within a few minutes, Jay was fast asleep. He began to slip down with the motion of the carriage, so Sidney picked him up and placed him on his lap. He woke for a moment, then nestled into his father’s chest, held securely in his arms. He had worked so hard to be a big boy for five days. Sidney was happy to let him be a little one for a few hours.

###

_Sanditon_

Mr Bainbridge, the stable master, asked Charlotte if she knew whether or not Mr Parker had ordered a certain piece of equipment. “Let me check,” she said.

She went to her bed chamber to retrieve her keys. Sidney kept all his account books and ledgers locked in his desk. She rarely carried her keys even though she was the mistress of the house. They had a tight knit, honest group of servants, and Mrs Evans, the housekeeper, had keys to the tea and spice chests. Charlotte trusted her and they never seemed to have anything missing. In Sidney’s study, Charlotte unlocked the desk drawer and took out the appropriate ledger for estate expenditures. Yes, he had ordered the item in question. She asked Johnson, the footman, to let Mr Bainbridge know.

Then as she began to put the books back, she realized it had been years since she last looked through them. In the beginning, she always checked Sidney’s computations as she had for her father, but Sidney never made errors, so eventually she stopped. He was meticulous with his accounts, where her father was a bit messy. She began to look through the banking ledger, investment ledger, income and expenditures, all in Sidney’s neat, elegant hand. She began adding in her head the value of their assets. The figure she came to astonished her. _That cannot be correct_ , she thought. She went through it again. Figures were the same. Sidney had amassed a fortune of over 100,000 pounds. He had never said a word. Why was he still working, going to London as many as three times a month during the busy season?

She put all the books back in the drawer and locked it again, then sat in his chair. They were far wealthier than she had ever imagined, more than triple what they had when first married. She would have to bring it up when he returned.

About half past six in the evening, the Berline arrived. Sidney stepped down first and lifted Jay out. The carriage was unloaded and taken around back. Jay ran to his Mama fairly bursting to talk of all he’d seen and done. Sidney took her in his arms and kissed her soundly. “So much to tell you,” he said.

Amelia and Adam jumped onto their father, giggling and kissing him. They ate dinner; Jay recounted the docks and the ships, the circus with riders balancing on one foot on the backs of horses, the bookstore. When dinner was finished and the children were put to bed, Sidney pulled her off to their bed chamber, down on the bed, ardent and ravening as only five days away from her could make him, “Ahhh, I have missed you.”

She stopped him and sat up. “We have to talk.”

“What is it?” he came up beside her, nuzzling and kissing up and down her neck.

She proceeded to tell him how she happened to look at the books and ledgers. “Why did you not tell me the size of your fortune?”

He stopped and looked puzzled. “I don’t understand your meaning. It’s _our_ fortune, not just mine. And, well... you never asked me. You’ve always been free to look whenever you liked. You have the keys to the desk. I keep no secrets from you. I seem to remember you saying wealth was not important to you in your marriage.”

“But how did it happen? We had not even a third of that when we married.”

“Well, it happened because I made wise investments. Because Europe has been at peace for twelve years and Britain is the largest trading country in the world. Ships are faster and safer. More goods are being produced for export and import. I own shares in three ships now, and each time one sets sail, I receive payment. You needn’t worry, all the investments and trading is ethical, as I have done since before I met you. But…why are you _upset?_ Surely I must be the only man in the world whose wife is angry because he made her a fortune.”

“I am not angry, I just do not…” She paused.

“Do not what? Do not like it that we are wealthy?”

“No…why do you have to keep working? Keep going back and forth to London? Surely we have enough.”

“All right, now we get to it. Why do I keep working. Did you happen to look at the expenditures for us monthly? We have three children, ten full time servants, twelve horses, three carriages, an old house that needs regular repair and maintenance. You have a husband who happens to enjoy seeing his wife in silk and gold. We have two boys who will need education when they turn fourteen; a girl who will need a governess. Another child on the way. We have costs for Bedford Place. And we have an obligation to leave a legacy to our children. I have a responsibility to see that if anything happens to me, there is enough to allow you and the children to live in the manner you are accustomed, so you do not have to remarry for money. It’s all specified in my will.”

“Do not talk about that. About something happening to you. That is exactly what I am afraid of, with all the back and forth to London.”

“Charlotte, I have to make sure you are taken care of. I would be remiss in my duty to you and the children if I did not. And you know, political hostilities could suddenly flare up without warning; peace is over, and along with it the trade business bottoms out. I need to make hay while the sun shines. The roads are better and travel is easier. Highwaymen are infrequent on the roads I take. In fact, I liked traveling in the Berline so much, I think I will take it now rather than horseback. It’s nearly as fast.”

“So you will not stop working?”

“I cannot. Not now. I will take six months off for us to go to France, and have to rebuild when I come back. I do not go to an office every day. I’m here far more than I’m gone. We decided this when we married. You know I hate being away from you, but we agreed traveling with the children is out of the question as is leaving them here alone with Nanny. Please do not be angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Well you are _something_. I noticed when I first arrived but dismissed it as my imagination. All I’ve been thinking about was how much I wanted to be with you, bed you, tell you how amazing our son is. I wasn’t expecting this. I’ve hidden _nothing_ from you. I have not deceived you. I don’t deserve this.” He stood, went to the door, hesitated, then left.

She found him on the terrace, drinking a glass of port in the waning light. She sat down next to him. “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

He shook his head and took a sip of port.

“Do you not wish to forgive me?”

He looked at her now. “I wish to understand why the fact that I have honestly and ethically built us a fortune is distasteful to you. Do you want to be poor? To struggle and worry about money? You saw what Mary went through. Is that what you want?”

“That isn’t what I said. I hate that you have to go to London all the time. I worry from the minute you leave until you step off the carriage again.” She felt a sob well up in her. “I’m so tired of worrying every time you go.”

“So you thought I was going to Town for something else? Is that it? That we didn’t need money so I must go for another reason?”

“No... I don’t know. I’m all fuzzy these days.”

“I go to Town. I do my work. I may visit a friend or two. I leave and come home to you. I never so much as even think about other women. I have _everything_ I want and need right here. You know that.”

Quiet sobs came to the surface. “I see the way women look at you.”

“I see the way men look at you, but I trust you. Do you not trust me anymore? What have I done to lose it?”

“Nothing. I do trust you. It was the shock of seeing how much we have.”

“And I thought when you finally found out you would be so pleased. What a fool I am.”

“No.” She wiped her eyes, sat up straight, reached for his hand. “Can we just erase the slate and rewrite this, starting when you said you missed me?”

“There is nothing I would like better.” He picked up his glass, toasted her and drank it down. “Done.” He walked to the other side of the table and put his hand out. “Come on, Mrs Parker, we left something in our bed chamber.”

And after, when they lay in each other's arms and talked about Jay, and Jenny, and travel plans, and the new baby, they reminded themselves that equality of affection was their most valuable asset. 


	12. Moving Along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your great comments! They really do inform my next chapters.

Whoops about Jenny. Sidney is a one woman man. The days tick by.

**The Twentieth of July, 1827**

_Southwest of Carlisle, Cumberland_

_~~_

_My Dearest Alison,_

_I hope this finds you, Charles and the children well. How I have longed to see and talk to you. I hope you are fully back to yourself and little Jane has settled in. I am now about twelve weeks along with this child, and Dr Fuchs tells me I am progressing normally, but between us, I did not need him to tell me that. Thankfully, too, I have had much less sickness with this one, it seems Jay was the worst for me in that respect. So I will be about eighteen weeks when we begin the journey. Sidney continues to insist it is a girl. I just hope for a healthy baby, boy or girl. Indeed, I am most glad Mary, Georgiana and Diana will be with me for the birth. And Sidney, of course._

_I must give you some extra knowledge of the situation about Mary and Tom’s children, and first thank you and Charles again for your kindness in helping Mary. I believe you will find the two boys a delight. They are very bright and well-mannered, most eager to spend time on the estate with Charles and the horses. Sidney and the two boys, especially Henry, have a very close bond, and that I believe has helped them to cope with their mercurial father’s moods and preoccupations._

_Sadly, I cannot say the same for Jenny and Alicia. The deep feelings the two had for me and Sidney when they were smaller have mostly disappeared, and I have much difficulty even with small talk. Mary has similar problems, and since the incident at the charity bazaar, Jenny will scarcely speak to me and is bad-tempered with everyone. She turns fifteen next week, and no one quite knows what to do for her. She spends all her time brooding in her room. Alicia seems to be more upset that she will have to be with Jenny rather than about staying with you. But any way we look at it, gone are the two sweet girls we knew. It is very difficult for me to understand this animosity between sisters, as I have always been close to mine, especially you._

_I have my ideas as to why they are this way. Being older, they were exposed to more of their father’s instability after the fire in ‘19. You witnessed some of it when you stayed at Trafalgar House for my wedding. Mary, too, was in such great distress coping with money concerns and Tom’s ever-changing temperament. Indeed, I believe Tom has a mental sickness that seems to have worsened over time. I know not what he will do when he is here in Sanditon without wife or children. I do not think it has quite struck him yet that Mary will be away for near six months._

_One thing I must tell you that I have told no one else, not even Sidney, as I fear it will be too much. This man I saw kissing Jenny was also fondling her breast. I want to believe she did not know it was wrong, but judging from her reaction, she did, but cared not. I fear for her, and feel awful for you in taking on this burden. I think if her stay does not go well, you must write to Tom Parker and demand he take her back to Sanditon. If it becomes too much of a burden on you, you must insist he take her home. Promise me you will do that._

Alison stopped reading. Neither Mary nor Charlotte realized Carlisle was the headquarters of the Border Regiment and garrisoned many soldiers. It was near impossible to walk about the town or even the area without seeing soldiers, often randy soldiers at that. Though the Copeland estate was outside Carlisle by several miles, they often went to town for supplies, shopping, and entertainment. A stolen kiss was one thing, but if a fourteen year old girl allowed a strange man to kiss and _fondle_ her in the open at a charity bazaar in her own hometown, what might a fifteen year old girl do in the company of distant relatives with young men in uniform all about? Alison could not be responsible for that; she had an infant and two little ones. She would have to keep the girl under lock and key, especially with Gretna Green but a few hours ride away. She must write to her sister immediately. Charlotte would have to tell Mary. They could send Alicia and the boys, but Jenny would have to either stay with her father in Sanditon or go to France with her mother. The only other alternative would be to send her to another relative, or perhaps Willingden, but their parents still had seven children at home and at their age didn’t need the extra burden of someone else’s badly behaved one.

_Sanditon_

Sidney watched his beloved wife practice French with their children at the breakfast table that morning. This was his Charlotte, laughing, bright eyed, intelligent, loving. He still felt troubled about what occurred when he and Jay returned. It was not the first time she had doubted his faithfulness, each time when she was with child, and each time without any justification. He was well aware of the physical and emotional strain she went through during her condition. He was with her for two of the three births and saw what it took from her. Still, it confounded him she could ever see him that way. Even though it drove him to distraction the first month getting used to it, he wore his wedding ring, save one time when he injured his hand and had to remove it. When his hand healed, he had her place the ring back on his finger. He made every effort to inform the world he was a happily married man.

He had to believe it all stemmed from his return after the fire, when he told her he must marry Eliza to save Tom. It ripped a tear in her that never quite healed, and when she was feeling vulnerable, the wound ached. All he could do was continue to prove to her would never abandon her, never stop loving her. He knew not what else he could do.

He’d once had a conversation with Babington. “Do you ever look at other ladies?” he’d asked Sidney.

“What, with desire you mean?”

“Yes, with lust.”

“No. No reason to.”

“Seriously? You’re completely satisfied?”

“More than satisfied.”

“How is that possible? She always pleases you?”

“Yes, but I’m more concerned if I always please her.”

“So you would never take a mistress?”

“Why would ever I take a mistress when I have my heart’s desire in bed with me every night? Why would I want to jeopardize that?”

“But she’s your _wife_.”

“Yes, am I not the luckiest man alive?”

**The Twenty-First of July, 1827**

_Sanditon_

When he had everyone’s attention around the dinner table, Jay smiled widely, put his tongue against his bottom front tooth and wiggled it. “It’s loose!”

“Ahh, it will be gone in a few days,” said his mother.

“Then I will have big teeth!”

“Not for a while,” said his father. “You’ll have a big space for some time.”

“We will call you toothless,” said Amelia.

“And if you do, he will be able to call you that in but a year or two. Is that what you want?” asked her mother.

“No.”

“Then be nice. At least you get to see how it works before it happens to you. Jay will blaze the trail.”

“Should I pull it out” Jay asked.

“Just leave it be,” his father said. “It will fall out all by itself with you fiddling with it all the time.”

###

The date of departure for France was scheduled for August 29. There was much to do before they left. Clothing to buy. Visits to make. Packing trunks. Seeing to the house and Sidney’s business for their long absence. Sidney wanted to take the entire family into London to shop and see friends before they left, especially Susan, since they would not have their usual Christmas gathering with her this year.

Life in Sanditon went about its usual summer pace with the Sandcastle Competition, which Tom wisely moved to a different date from the regatta several years back, creating a family oriented event. Then the two day Kite Festival to come in early August. Tom seemed unaware of what was about to happen, although Mary had told him numerous times. His ebb and flow was timed to Sanditon, and nothing else.


	13. Matters to Attend to

Flying dreams. Tom, Tom, Tom. An accident.

**The Twenty-Sixth of July, 1827**

_Sanditon_

Darkness still cloaked the room when Charlotte awoke. She thought she had a bout of queasiness coming, but the wave rose and quickly dissipated. Sidney was on his side, his back to her. She could tell by his breathing that he was asleep. She closed her eyes, hoping to slumber again, but thoughts emerged and danced inside her mind, demanding attention.

Yesterday afternoon, she received a post from Alison. Charlotte had completely forgotten about the regiments in Carlisle. The previous times they’d visited, she saw soldiers about the town but never gave it much thought. Of course, it would be more than problematic with Jenny. She thought back to the day of the bazaar and why she initially overlooked the more flagrant indiscretion. Her thinking had been hazy, her senses overwhelmed by the crowd with its noise and smells. She could not focus on what her task had been, only on protecting Amelia from the writhing mass of people. The shock of seeing Jenny…like that… she felt only anger at first. Layer upon layer of emotion followed with Mary’s reaction, Jenny’s response to it, the fear over what Amelia witnessed. As Charlotte struggled with what happened, the fog lifted and the scene in its entirety came to full focus. She felt it was her awful secret to keep, for everyone’s sake.

But now she would have to tell Mary. Sidney read Alison’s letter and agreed. He understood why Charlotte kept that detail to herself, and indeed, his disappointment and sorrow over his niece was twofold now.

First light crept through the curtains. Sidney stirred and shifted onto his back, one arm crooked above his head, his profile softly illuminated. They rarely hit rough patches in their marriage, the stones and carriage ruts as Susan had called them, but when they did, they looked back to the understanding and trust they vowed to each other in the beginning, sitting in the curricle in Hyde Park, there would be no secrets between them, no things left unsaid to cause problems later on.

And so with his sense of practicality and duty, Sidney had taken her into the study and clarified all their finances with her, explained the different bank accounts for his business and their household, and where she should look to know where they stood at any given time. She vowed not to let her imagination get the best of her, never to doubt him, to be his partner in all things, his shelter in the storm. Theirs was a bond of souls, of passion and affection, powerful and sublime. Fate had gifted them something rare and beautiful, and they must always honor it.

He was dreaming now, she could see his eyes moving beneath their lids, following the action. The fluttering ceased and he slowly opened his eyes, looked over and gave a sleepy smile. He put both arms overhead and stretched, then turned to face her.

“You were dreaming,” she said.

“I was. We were flying over the sea, the two of us.”

“On a magic carpet?”

“No, just holding hands and…flying, soaring I guess, like birds.” He sighed and kissed her. “It felt liberating.”

“I will fly over the sea with you any time.”

“You’ll fly with me anywhere?”

“Anywhere.”

“Then let’s go back to sleep and fly until we have to get up.” They pulled each other in and dozed until the sounds of the house stirring roused them.

###

“If you have a moment, we would like to speak with both of you,” Charlotte said to Tom. He was in his office at Trafalgar Place, fiddling about with something on his desk. Sidney and Mary waited in the drawing room.

“Can it not wait?” he asked.

“No, it cannot. It won’t take long. It’s about Jenny.”

“Oh, very well.”

When they all sat together, Charlotte said in a low tone, “No one else should hear this.” She began very softly. “There is something I did not tell you about that day. I had not even come to reckoning with it myself for a few days after. So much was happening in that moment, but the man, with her, was…doing something else besides kissing her.”

Mary’s brow furrowed. “ _Touching_ her?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Where?”

She indicated with her hand.

Dismay filled Mary’s face and she looked at Tom. His expression was blank.

“At first I thought it would be best to spare you that detail, but I received a letter from Alison, and she reminded me that Carlisle is Border Regiment headquarters. There are young soldiers everywhere. She feels if a girl is willing to do such things in the open in her hometown, that being away from home and around soldiers…well, it might be an unfortunate situation. She says she cannot take Jenny in good conscience. It is too great a risk for the girl in her current state.”

“Why would she take Jenny?” Tom said.

“Tom, the children are going to visit Alison and Charles in Cumberland. I’ve told you a number of times.”

“Why? Why would they leave Sanditon?”

Sidney spoke now. “Tom. Are you aware of what happened with your daughter at the Ladies’ sale?”

“Oh she gave a peck to some boy. What’s the fuss? All girls do at that age.”

“I didn’t,” Charlotte and Mary said together.

“It was far more than a _peck_. And he wasn’t a boy, but a grown man, one of the blackguards staying at Denham Place. They spoke loutishly to women at the ball and struck Crowe. Do you not remember?” Sidney was incredulous.

“Yes, those fellows. Pity they left, I was hoping they’d spend a bit more money in the town.”

“Tom! The man dishonored your _daughter_. Your fourteen year old daughter. In plain sight. I sent them packing with Otis and Crowe’s help. We do not want their sort here. Care you nothing for your daughter’s reputation?”

“Well of course I do. I just think this is all overblown.”

“You see,” said Mary as if Tom were not there. “This is what I go through.”

Charlotte tried this time. “It would be overblown as you say, if your daughter seemed contrite, but she appears to have no remorse. Which means it could happen again, and possibly go further, leaving her in a family way and no husband. Do you want scandal like that to fall over your family?”

“So what would sending her away do, may I ask?” said Tom.

“Give me a rest for one thing,” Mary said with exasperation. “Those two girls bicker day and night. If you paid even half attention you would notice. I cannot do this all alone, Tom. The boys and Alicia are going to stay with Alison and Jenny is coming with me, to France. There. It’s settled. I must write Arthur and let him know we will be one more. She and I will share a room.”

“Why do you keep talking of going to France, Mary?”

Sidney again. “Charlotte and I, with our family, are going to France to visit Arthur, Diana and Francis. Georgiana and Otis are going as well, with Georgie. Then Mary decided to join us. All four of your children were going to Cumberland, since Mary will not be here to care for them, but because of the incident with Jenny, the vicinity of Carlisle will not be a suitable place for her. So, now, Mary has just decided Jenny will come with us as well. What do you not understand?”

“For how long?”

“Well, I’m afraid that depends on me, you see, I’m with child and will have to stay until after the birth. I suppose the others could leave sooner, but no one has voiced that yet. So about six months. The child should be born sometime in January.”

“But why, Mary? Why do you need to leave?”

“I would like to see those three, our three. I want to be with Charlotte for the birth. And I need a rest.”

“From me.”

“From everything.”

“And you don’t wish me to come?”

“Would you come?”

“No, I could not leave Sanditon for so long.”

“That is exactly what I thought.”

“But what ever shall I do all that time?”

“Whatever it is you always do, dear.”

**The Thirty-First of July, 1927**

_London_

They had arrived the evening before. It was not yet too hot or malodorous in Town. Sidney had a few business errands to run and a visit to his solicitor. He told her to shop and buy whatever she wished, which he always did, but for the first time, she felt happy to do so. They agreed they would cover all Mary and Jenny’s travel expenses, and again, for the first time in her life, she felt a tangible relationship to money. Of what money could do. She’d never thought of it before. Never dreamed she would be wealthy. In the past, she would ask Sidney, _Can we afford this?_ and he would say, _Yes_ , and she would think no more on it. The charity money she helped to raise was wholly outside of her personal realm. It was not hers. This was. 

Jay wanted to go with his father, and Sidney did not mind. She took Amelia and Adam to Burlington Arcade for clothing and other accessories, then to bookstores where they loaded up on books for the journey, some in French, and an anniversary present for Sidney, Wordsworth’s _Poems, in Two Volumes._

Jay insisted they see another extravaganza at Astley’s Amphitheatre, so Sidney bought a box for the family. The play began with the orchestra and the clowns and a Juvenile Army in maneuvers, and a Derby Day. Then came the trick riders juggling oranges while riding backwards, or standing on their heads on the backs of galloping horses.

Suddenly a horse stumbled and the rider fell, rolling out into the arena and trampled by another horse before the rider could stop. Charlotte had hold of Adam and was able to cover his eyes and pull him back. Amelia stood from her seat, staring. Charlotte reached and grabbed hold of her hand, pulling her back out of sight range. Jay ran to the edge of the box, watching what transpired. Sidney wrenched him back, the boy’s eyes wide and staring. The crowd became hysterical, shrieking and shouting. Adam began to thrash about in Charlotte’s arms, upset by the noise and his mother’s actions. She could not hold both him and Amelia. She looked at Sidney, who growled at Jay to stay where he was, then took Adam from her. They cowered at the back of the box, the noise from the crowd deafening. With Adam pressed to his chest, Sidney walked over to see what was happening.

“What?” she asked.

“They’re removing him now.”

“What should we do, Mama?” asked Amelia in a tiny voice.

“We should say a prayer for that man, and hope he recovers from his injuries.”

“Can we leave?”

“Not yet.”

The master of ceremonies spoke after what seemed like forever. They would close the show for the night. If people wished their money back, they would need to wait in line at the booth.

They waited until the crowd in the lower seats had dissipated, then made their way down the stairs and outside, Charlotte holding Adam, Sidney with Amelia in one arm, Jay’s hand in the other. At Bedford Place, they readied the children and put them to bed, staying and talking and soothing little minds and hearts until they fell asleep.

They folded into each other once outside the children’s door. “Adam did not see anything. Amelia very little. Only Jay,” she said.

“I’m so sorry. I'm so sorry. I never imagined something like that would happen.”

She stroked his cheek. “It wasn't your doing. You cannot make everything right in the world. They will be fine. _We_ will be fine. I hope that poor man is.”

“Yes, poor soul. God, I’m tired.”

“I am, too.”

“Should we leave the door ajar to hear them better?”

“Good idea.”

“Right then.” He cracked the door open a few inches. “Come on, my love. Let’s go to bed.”


	14. Finalizing Things -- The End of Part 1

Visits. A walk on a familiar path. Guy talk.

**The First of August, 1827**

_London and Covington House, Surrey_

Everyone’s mood was subdued the next morning. The children stayed close by, and even the ordinarily lively Jay played quietly with his tin soldiers. The Berline was packed and they set off for Surrey to visit Lady Susan at Covington House, arriving late afternoon.

Amelia walked the garden with Susan, who, truth be told, adored the little girl, and they spoke of the accident at the circus and the reaction of the crowd. Amelia could not comprehend why people were shouting and screaming. “What good would that do?” she asked.

“Sometimes people react to a shocking event by crying out. When one starts, others join in, as if to share the emotion together.”

“Like dogs howling? When one starts, the others join in?”

“Something like that, yes.” Susan did her best to hide her smile. Out of the mouths of babes.

“I say prayers for that man. I hope his family is with him.”

“That is kind of you, Amelia. But other than concern for the injured rider, you are not too troubled about it?”

“No. Well, maybe a little, but more from all the people screaming. Adam, too. He was very upset by that.”

“Yes, it sounds quite dreadful. But your Papa and Mama were with you. You were safe.”

“Oh, yes, I was not frightened in that way. One time when I was little, Papa’s hand was hurt from the horses hitched to the carriage. There was blood everywhere. I was much more frightened then.”

“Because it was your father hurt, and you were close by to see.”

“Yes, that’s right. But Mama fixed it. He has a scar there now, but his hand works just as before.”

“I remember when that happened. You were so small; I’m surprised you recall that much.”

“Susan?”

“Yes, Amelia?”

“I will miss you when we are in France.”

“My sweet girl, I will miss you as well. But you will have so many adventures! And you will come home with a new baby brother or sister.”

“Papa says it will be a sister.”

Susan laughed. “I think your Papa will be happy with either. Now, should we practice your French, Mademoiselle Parker?”

“Oui, Madame Worcester.”

###

The second afternoon of their stay, the children were tired and all took a lie down. Sidney and Charlotte decided to visit their spot down by the stream. They hadn’t taken the path in several years, but it was much the same. As they wandered through the rose garden, Charlotte decided to bring up the question they had both been avoiding. “What’s going to happen to Tom?”

“I wish I knew. He keeps slipping further and further away.”

“When I first came to Sanditon with them, after they stayed at Willingden, they had not seen their children in a fortnight, and it was unplanned. As we passed by Sanditon House, Tom wanted to stop and call on Lady Denham. Mary said, _Before we’ve seen our children?_ He realized his blunder, and we continued on. Then the very next day Mary told me Tom had two wives, her and Sanditon. That was eight years ago.”

“Then the fire pushed him over the edge. I know. I plan to ask Babington to look after him.”

“I think Alison should write to Babington as well, if anything concerns the children, because Tom might think it’s _overblown_ and do nothing.”

“Yes, that’s wise. But I don’t even want to think about committing him to an asylum. We have to see how he does alone and decide on our return. I will not do anything against Mary’s wishes.”

“It has to be you, doesn’t it?”

“Henry is too young, so I am his closest male kin, so yes, it has to be me.”

“Let’s leave it now.”

“Nothing we can do now anyway.”

They reached the grassy meadow, full of summer wildflowers.

“Those were heady days when we first walked here.”

“And when you took me riding.”

“Dear God, I still don’t know how I resisted you that day. Or in your room.”

“ _You_ came into my room of your own accord.” She stopped and pressed herself into him, running her fingers up his neck and into his hair. “And how I wanted you to stay.” She kissed him then, sensual and easy. “But I am glad we waited.”

He ran his hands down her back to her round cheeks and pulled her to him. “Yes, I am, too. It was… a _beautiful_ night. But we’ve had many since then, have we not? You must remember to pack the peignoir.”

“I won’t forget. It should still fit.”

“It didn’t fit with Jay or Adam, but the robe was enough.”

“The robe barely covered me.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Do you think people would find us strange, with all our little rituals? Balconies and nightgowns and whatnot?”

“They aren’t invited.”

She pushed him over to a grove of trees.

“What are you up to, Madame?”

“Nothing.” She slowly unbuttoned his fall.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Do you mind?”

“I have a reputation to uphold.”

“You have only one thing to uphold right now.”

He smiled and narrowed his eyes. She pushed him down to sit on the grass up against a tree, then sat astride, arranging her skirt around them.

“What if I’m not willing?”

“Let’s see.” She reached under her skirt. “I may be mistaken, but part of you is most willing.” She lifted herself up and slid slowly onto him. He closed his eyes and exhaled, then opened them and locked his gaze with hers as he guided her hips. There in the warm summer afternoon, their sighs mingled with the rustle of the leaves overhead.

**The Third of August, 1927**

_Willingden_

After saying goodbye to Susan, they traveled on to the Heywood estate. The children squealed with delight to see Grandmamma and Grandpapa, and their uncles and aunties. Finally Jay, who had been uncharacteristically reserved after the circus, unburdened himself to the older boys about what had happened, and they talked long hours about horses, and risk and life in general. They stayed for a full day and two nights, and the next morning headed back to Sanditon.

**The Tenth of August, 1827**

_Sanditon_

Henry, James and Alicia left for Cumberland that morning with their governess and a manservant. The journey would take about four days, so there would be time for them to settle and word to get back to Mary before leaving for France.

Sidney stopped by Sanditon House to confer with Babington.

“So if you could look after Tom, I would be most grateful. There is no real damage he can do, but I still fear for him.”

“He isn’t quite himself, is he? Hasn’t been for a long time.”

“No, and I will also have to ask you to step in if you hear from Charlotte’s sister, Alison, where three of the children are staying. We have a concern Tom may not react to a serious situation if one arises. So if you do not mind, she will also inform you should that happen.”

“Fine, old friend, anything I can do, I will.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

“We will not be doing any new building or improvements while you are away, just so you know. Tom isn’t happy about it, but I’ve told him it has to be that way because of my commitments.”

“Wise, I think.”

“You’ll be gone for some time. We will miss you.”

“You were gone as long for your honeymoon.”

“True. But you aren’t concerned about the babe being born there? In France?”

“No. Mary, Georgiana and Diana will be there. Diana has found the best midwives. And I will be there.”

“I cannot believe you do that, Sidney. I could not use one hand to count the number of men I know who would even consider it.”

“Well, they have no idea what they are missing. To be with your wife when your child is born, there is nothing that equals that.”

“But what do you do? It takes forever.”

“I talk to her and hold her. Wipe her brow. Walk with her when she needs it. Sometimes I leave and check on the other children. It comes in cycles, so it isn’t constant until the end. I would much rather be there with her than standing outside the door listening to her cry and scream. Or go hunting and drinking as some men do. And to see your child _born_ , Babs, it’s a miracle.”

“Well, I will have a chance to soon.”

“Really? Esther is with child again?”

“We seem to follow each other, do we not?”

“Congratulations! When?”

“February.”

“So there you are. And,” he said in a low tone, “when you see what your wife goes through to have your child, you will reconsider any thoughts of a mistress. Mark my words.”

“Oh, I gave up that notion sometime back. Esther would poison me if she found out. And besides, I love her.”

“I thought so,” Sidney said, slapping him on the back.

**The Twenty-Ninth of August, 1827**

_Sanditon_

All the trunks were loaded onto the wagon. Last minute instructions given to the staff remaining at the Parker House. The Berline rolled out of the driveway and headed to Trafalgar House, where Mary and Jenny would join in their carriage. There were last minute tears from Mary about leaving Tom. He stood and waved as they pulled out. They were on the road to Dover by mid-morning, where the Molyneux family would meet them. The three coaches were coming from London, where they boarded theirs in Holborn. The journey had begun.

**End of Part 1**


	15. Part 2 -- France

**The Thirtieth of August, 1827**

_The English Channel and Calais_

“Why is it white?” Amelia asked as they viewed the coastline of England from the steamship.

“It’s chalk. The cliffs are made of chalk that came from the sea long ago,” said her mother.

“Chalk, the same as we use on a slate?” asked Jay.

“The very same,” said his father. “The chalk cliffs run on both sides of the channel.”

The coaches, along with the Molyneux family, awaited them in Calais. It had been a day and a half journey across the English coast to Dover. They had stayed over in Rye, at an ancient inn called The Mermaid, then rose early to arrive in Dover shortly after noon. The tide was with them, and the captain informed the passengers there should be no trouble with docking on the other side.

“I wish I were big enough to write about this,” Amelia said. “I will have to keep it all inside my head until I am old enough to put pencil to paper.”

“I can write it for you,” Jenny said, “you tell me your story and I will write it down.”

“Would you? I would so like that, Jenny.”

Charlotte, Sidney and Mary exchanged looks. It was Sidney who took Jenny aside. “Do not promise her something that you will not give.” He spoke tersely, without emotion. “She looks up to you, and she is sincere. Do not hurt or disappoint her.”

For the first time in months, Jenny appeared chastened. “I will not hurt her, Uncle Sidney, I promise. I love Amelia, and…it will give me something to do.”

He pursed his lips and looked out over the water, his jaw tense. “Where did my sweet niece, Jenny, go? What happened to the girl running and laughing on the beach with her sister and brothers? I always believed she would become an elegant and honorable lady like her mother.” He turned his gaze to her. She, too, watched the sea. “Look at me,” he said. Reluctantly she met his eyes, then looked downward. He took her chin between his thumb and finger and brought her face back up to his. “This trip is a chance to redeem yourself. Do not waste it. You have but one life to live. Do not squander it at the age of fifteen.” He smiled tenderly at her then, patted her shoulder and left her, staring out into the ship's wake.

The crossing lasted four hours, during which time the contents of everyone’s stomach, including Charlotte’s despite a bit of nausea, remained where it should. “Well, it appears my children are seaworthy,” declared Sidney.

When the ship successfully docked and passengers and cargo unloaded, Monsieur Talbot, their French guide, directed their luggage that would continue on to Saint-Tropez be loaded onto a freight wagon with that of the Molyneux’s. Tightly secured with waxed canvas tarps and strapping, the driver and armed coachman would set off for their destination at first light. Their travel luggage was loaded and the seven of them squeezed into their coach to head for the inn where they would stay for the night, and Georgiana and Otis awaited.

The six servants had a smaller carriage hired in Calais. Room aplenty for the four women, Crockett, Nanny Grey, Haskell, and Mary’s maid, Walsh; while Sidney’s valet, Roland, and Otis’s, Offiah, would ride atop, but could still sit inside in the event of bad weather. Many in the upper classes would have had their servants ride outside the entire journey, but not these two families.

At the old inn on the south end of Calais, the ten of them relished a dinner of _La Carbonade Flamande_ , a traditional Flemish stew made with beef, onions and beer, accompanied by heaping plates of _frieten_ , or fried potatoes, wolfed down by the children.

After dinner, Jenny brought Amelia to her room. Jenny’s governess had given her a new blank notebook to keep a diary of the trip. Jenny told her little cousin they could use it for Amelia’s story, and Jenny would acquire another later. They huddled together at the small writing table while Amelia dictated her carefully thought out first chapter as Jenny recorded. Sometimes they stopped to discuss exactly what each had seen or thought, and so it became a collaboration of sorts. When finished, Jenny escorted Amelia back to her parent’s room.

After she and her mother had settled into bed, Jenny kept a candle burning by her bedside, pencil and notebook in her hands. “Whatever are you doing, Jenny?” Mary asked.

“I’ve decided to illustrate Amelia’s story.”

“Oh, how _lovely_. You were always so good at drawing; I was sad when you stopped. Does she know?” 

“Not yet. She’ll see it tomorrow. Here. What do you think?”

She had left spaces between several of the paragraphs that she now filled with small sketches of the Parker House, the Mermaid Inn, the cliffs of Dover, the steamship, and their dinner.

“Jenny, these are wonderful. Oh my dear, I’m so happy you are doing this for Amelia.” She kissed her daughter on the cheek. “Don’t stay up too late. We have a long day tomorrow.”

###

**The Thirty-First of August, 1827**

_Calais and on the Road to Abbeville_

Breakfast was an array of breads, pastries, smoked meats and fruit, with bowls of strong coffee and hot milk, hot chocolate for the children. Jenny showed her drawings to Amelia, who gasped with amazement. “Oh, Jenny how perfectly you drew what I wished to say. Will you continue?”

“If you like.”

Amelia threw her arms around her cousin. “I do! I do like!”

Coaches were packed and boarded, with Mary and Jenny riding the coach with Georgiana, Otis and Georgie; the Parker family in the other, although they planned to trade places during the journey, especially with the children. The coaches were spacious and comfortable, with tables that folded out, clips to hang coats and hats, bells to summon the coachman, and a secret compartment to hide valuables if one wished. To keep the children amused, they brought board games, such as _The Elephant and Castle_ , books, slates to practice their letters and arithmetic.

The plan was to take three days to reach Paris, about nine to ten hours of travel a day. The roads leading into the capital were in good repair, well-traveled and even graded to aid with rain run-off and prevent flooding. The stretch that day would be Calais to Abbeville, with rooms at _L'Hôtel d'Angleterre_ for the night.

As they passed through estuaries, pastures and fields now the soft gold of late summer, Charlotte watched as Sidney, with all three children on his coach seat, performed his interpretation of _Jack and the Beanstalk_ , which they both had read to the children countless times and everyone knew by heart. Sidney loved to act it out for them, with a falsetto voice for Jack’s mother, _"Oh, silly boy! How could you give away our milking cow for three measly beans?"_ And was at his best with the giant growling, _“Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman...”_ The children, on cue, would shriek and giggle as he tickled them and blew raspberries into their necks. And always he would break from the story and say as Papa, “You cannot make noise, the giant will find you,” but giggle and shriek they would. When the story was finished, and all exhausted from laughing, they settled into watching France pass by outside their windows.

Not quite half way, at Boulogne-sur-Mer, the coaches stopped to change horse teams and for all to have a meal. At a tiny inn, they ordered _Moules marinières_ , mussels fresh that day from the sea, steamed with leeks, garlic and vin blanc, with bread and fried potatoes. Adam and Georgie learned how to scoop up the broth with a mussel shell, and that was good for at least a quarter hour of little boy entertainment. 

Back in the coaches, the ride continued. The mood in the second coach was more subdued, with Georgiana reading, Mary working on crochet, Otis reading to Georgie or by himself, Jenny alternately drawing or reading. When ladies had to relieve themselves, which happened frequently for Charlotte, they employed a privacy sheet the women held up for each other. The men simply walked into the distance.

Finally, Abbeville showed itself on the horizon.

“How can sitting for hours and hours make me so tired?” Charlotte asked Sidney.

“Too bad we haven’t our own room,” he whispered to her. The children slept on cots in the same room with them.

She nuzzled his nose and gave him a soft kiss. “I cannot see any way around that one.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Will you let me know?”

“You’ll be the first.”

They dined together and talked about all they had seen. Amelia dictated her day to Jenny. Children were tucked in and candles snuffed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting! Again, I would recommend, if you have not already, reading The Brothers to understand the relationship between Arthur, Sir Francis Gilbert, and Diana.


	16. The Road to Paris

**The First of September, 1827**

_The Road between Abbeville and Beauvais_

The day dawned warm and calm, all expectations were for a sultry day. Breakfast was served in their rooms, with _oeufs à la coque,_ or soft boiled eggs, bread, blackberries with cream, and bowls of _café au lait_ , strong coffee with hot milk. Adam had devoured his bowl of blackberries, grinning in purple. Monsieur Talbot gave each coach a basket of fruit he had procured from the market that morning, the first of the season’s apples and purple plums called _la quetsche._ Jenny rode in the Parker coach today, while Adam went to spend the day with his best friend, Georgie. The morning temperatures continued to rise as the sun climbed overhead, their horses and coach wheels generating clouds of dust. Along the way they saw hay making in the fields, and linens drying on lines in tiny hamlets, followed by long stretches of woodlands and golden pastures. They crossed the River Somme over a newer bridge at Pont-Remy.

Charlotte sat between Jay and Amelia, giving them arithmetic problems on their slates. She wore her hair down today, simply pulled back at the sides, not a common occurrence anymore. Amelia wore hers the same way, and Sidney savored how very alike were his daughter and wife, the same chestnut curls, eyes and brow, little round nose, their lips and expressions. Still, there was a small bit of him in his daughter; she did not have her mother’s dimpled chin, none of the three did. He secretly hoped the fourth would. Jenny busily sketched, and Sidney looked over at her work and smiled with surprise at the rendering of Charlotte with her son and daughter. “That is _very_ good; I must say Jenny.”

She looked up at him and met his smile. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed drawing.”

“We must get you some supplies, then, perhaps in Paris.”

“I’m excited about Paris!” she said, almost to herself.

Charlotte finished lessons and put the slates away, handing each a book to read, then winced and stretched her back. Jenny showed her the drawing and Charlotte laughed with delight. “How talented you are! I had no idea. You have been hiding your light under a bushel, Miss Jenny Parker.”

She switched places with Jay so Sidney was directly across, and without a word between the two of them, he slid forward on his seat and lifted her feet into his lap, untied her shoes and removed them. Jenny found herself embarrassed at this intimacy, as she had trouble remembering her parents showing affection outside of walking arm in arm. Jay and Amelia were unconcerned as Sidney began to knead and rub Charlotte’s feet.

“Do your feet hurt, Mama?” Jay asked.

“Yes, my feet and back.” She lay her head against the seat and closed her eyes halfway, smiling ever so slightly at her husband.

Sidney looked up from Charlotte’s feet and into her eyes, and Jenny had the strangest sensation that thoughts passed between them. She looked out the window, feeling herself blush. It never occurred to her Uncle Sidney and Aunt Charlotte were _in love_. She could remember when Charlotte first came from Willingden, Jenny was six going on seven. She remembered the boat race down at the river with the two of them, and when Charlotte disappeared to London, upsetting her mother so. Uncle Sidney came back with the pretty blonde lady, a wealthy widow, Mrs something-or-other, and then the fire happened. Everything changed after that.

Sidney became engaged to Mrs something-or-other and Jenny’s father was elated. Charlotte cried all the time in her room. Then Sidney was engaged to Charlotte and Jenny’s father was angry but her mother was happy. And they were married and moved to Sanditon, into her family’s old house, and Uncle Sidney and her father often argued about Sanditon, but everything was rebuilt and more buildings built and her mother wasn’t always worried about money and snipping at her over little things. Jenny had never paid much attention to her uncle and aunt before, not in _that_ way, at least. They were married people with children. Where’s the romance in that?

He finished with her feet and moved his hands up her calves and back down, finally asking, “Better.” She nodded and gave a secretive sort of smile. He put her shoes back on, after which he motioned to Jay and Amelia to switch seats with him. She rested her head in the crook of his neck as he put his arms around her, and for a time, it seemed she slept. Jenny turned the page in her notebook and began a new sketch, capturing the now fascinating couple sitting across from her, eating a crisp, tart apple as she worked.

The day wore on, they passed through tiny villages with cottage gardens and an ancient church here and there. Well cultivated land, apple orchards, cows grazing. Occasionally they came across a farm wagon, or Post carriage, or a diligence coach packed with travelers. Either one or the other had to find a place to pull aside so the first could pass. If the road were wide enough, both could pass at the same time. They stopped at Poix-de-Picardie to change horse teams, stretch their legs, and have a bite to eat.

In the servants’ carriage, Mathilde was pleased to be with Mary Parker’s maid, Miss Walsh again, as they had forged a friendship the two years Georgiana had lived at Trafalgar House. Young Miss Haskell, Charlotte Parker’s maid, was quiet and kind, having started in a lady’s maid/parlor maid position, gradually becoming a full time lady’s maid. The three of them talked of French fashion, and ladies’ hair, but always keeping the confidences of those they worked for, knowing full well any slip of the tongue with personal information could cost them their position.

Nanny Grey sat quietly embroidering or knitting, occasionally reading. She was older, a widow with a married daughter. She cared not to leave Sanditon when her husband passed, so when Mr Parker made it known he was seeking a live in helper for his family, she sought him out immediately. The Parkers were good people, the children well behaved, although she did not always agree with the discipline philosophy of their parents, she did as they asked. No physical discipline of any kind; no sharp or harsh scoldings; girls were free to engage in boys’ activities if they chose to. She had never left England, and was not sure she wanted to, but they paid her well and perhaps it was a good thing, after all, to see a little of the world.

Up top, Mr Roland, Sidney’s valet, was a young man from Brighton, and didn’t mind doing the odd jobs about the Parker House, as Mr Parker did not care for much fussing about him. Otis’s valet, Mr Offiah, came from Lagos, Nigeria, in the Royal Navy through impressment when he met Petty Officer Molyneux. Slightly younger than Mathilde, he found her intriguing, and always attempted to bring her out of her shell, but she was devoted to her mistress, and he had all but given up any possible interaction other than their positions warranted.

Early evening the little caravan pulled into Beauvais, where they would stay until Monday, as nothing happened in France on Sunday. They took their large and airy rooms at the _L'Hôtel de Campagne,_ where the master and mistress both presided at table during dinner and were most hospitable.

**The Second of September, 1827**

_Beauvais_

In the morning, all ten of them, plus several servants, attended services at _Cathédrale Saint-Pierre de Beauvais_ , St Peters Cathedral, a magnificent work of Gothic architecture begun in the thirteenth century but never completed. Afterwards, they walked to the old Gallo Roman fortifications, as Julius Caesar himself was believed to have once been there. They returned for a mid-day meal, and as it was Sunday, they found a simple buffet with meats, salad of endive and bread.

Mr and Mrs Parker left Nanny Grey to look after the children, and raced each other to their room, bolted the door, and shed their clothing as quickly as a ten year old boy before a clear lake on a hot summer day. Sidney had become amorous the night before, pulling the covers over their heads, convincing her in ways only he knew how that it was perfectly fine as long as they were quiet until Adam coughed and awoke in a strange place and called for his mother. Ardor met reality.

As he was tying his cravat and she was straightening her hair, a knock came on the door that Master Adam was quite ready for a lie down.

Tomorrow evening they would be in Paris.


	17. Finally, Paris

**The Third of September, 1827**

_On the road from Beauvais to Paris_

The party started their day early for the last stretch into Paris. The weather promised to be warm once again. It was Amelia and Mary who traded places in the coaches today. Jenny and Amelia worked on their diary, Otis read and Georgiana played with Georgie. With her interest stirred from yesterday, Jenny decided to observe this married couple. _Were they in love,_ she wondered. They had been married for over four years. She watched from the corner of her eye, noting small gestures and looks, the type she ordinarily would not have detected had she not been looking.

She remembered the two years Georgiana lived with them. Jenny was nine when Georgiana came of age and moved to London. Otis was in the Navy all during her stay at Trafalgar House, and whenever Georgiana received a letter she would swoon and rush to the privacy of her room to read it. She had showed Jenny the locket with his likeness and told her how fine he was. Georgiana was certainly in love back then, and she seemed to be still, and so did he.

The view outside the coach windows began to change as they neared the capital. More and more hamlets and towns dotted the landscape. Still in view were many well cultured fields, pastures with cows and sheep grazing, but now in the distance one could see far more grand châteaux than before. They encountered a large number of vehicles on the road, and more people walking alongside it. At one particular spot, the incline was too steep, requiring the riders to leave the carriages and walk. Jenny sought out her mother.

“May I ask you something, a little… sensitive?”

“What is it my dear?”

“Were you and Father in love when you married?”

At first she seemed surprised by the question, but quickly Mary’s face brightened and she smiled at the memory. “Oh, my yes, very much so. Your father was so handsome, tall and elegant, always impeccably attired, with his clear blue eyes and lovely smile. He always made me laugh, such a charming sense of humor.”

“And are you still? In love, I mean?”

Mary furrowed her brow slightly and tilted her head. “I suppose love changes after the years go by. Yes, I do love your father, and I know he loves us. He…he is preoccupied with other things, so he does not always show it.”

“What happened after the fire? That’s when everything changed.”

“Truth be told, it had already started changing before the fire. I suppose you are old enough to hear the whole story.” She stopped under the shade of overhanging trees to catch her breath in the dust and heat. Up ahead, Sidney now carried Adam on his shoulders, his other arm around Charlotte’s waist and hers around his. “Your father made a grave mistake, well, several I should say, back then. He had indebted himself beyond his ability to pay, and then he forewent paying for insurance on the terrace construction. You understand what that means?”

“I think so. He borrowed more money than he could pay back.”

“Yes, and when the terrace burned that night, it was not insured. So it was a complete loss. Money up in smoke. And a man _died._ It was awful, simply wretched.”

“That’s what he and Sidney used to argue about. I remember that.”

“Oh they argued about far more, for years on end. The day after the fire, Lady Denham, who had a great deal of money invested in the project, threatened to take legal action, which would have put your father in the workhouse and left us destitute. We would have lost everything, the house, our furnishings, everything we owned that had any value.”

“I remember father was so angry at Sidney for not marrying the rich lady. But we did not lose our house, and father kept on building.”

“Sidney _saved_ us, Jenny. He…well, I will not speak of this now. Just know your father was never the same after. It broke something in him; his temperament as it had been before, never returned.” They had reached the top of the hill and the drivers were instructing all to take their seats inside again.

They crossed the River Oise at Beaumont and stopped to change horse teams and eat. The closer they came to Paris, the wider the roads became, and by the time they reached Moisselles, they were paved with fine pebbles and crushed rock. Just before four o’clock, the city of Saint-Denis loomed ahead, a town with a thriving textile industry and the great Basilica. The roads were now cobblestone, all the way into Paris.

Around six in the evening, the coaches pulled up to the recently built Hôtel Westminster on Rue De la Paix in the 2nd arrondissement. Within half an hour they were situated in their rooms. The Parkers had a suite with an adjoining room for the children. All was so fashionable and elegant, Charlotte had a pang about how expensive it must be, but she caught herself. She would enjoy it, for three days, and treasure the memories she would make with her family.

All the travelers requested a light supper in their rooms, which they ordered from a card with a multitude of choices. Valets and maids unpacked clothing, taking the soiled muslin shirts and chemises for laundering. The Parkers all bathed to shed days of road dust. When the children were tucked in and asleep, the two of them viewed the nighttime city through the full length casement windows with wrought iron railings and window boxes full of flowers. Exhaustion creeping in, they slipped between soft sheets on fine down mattresses and without even attempting amour, slept soundly through the night.

Mary and Jenny, on the other hand, spent much of the evening talking. “Will you tell me now how Uncle Sidney saved us?”

In an odd way, it felt natural to share the whole sordid mess with Jenny now, Tom being far away and just the two of them together. “From what I have been able to piece together, because mind you Sidney is very reluctant to say anything unpleasant about his brother, at least to me anyway, he had given your father quite a bit of money after his return from Antigua, and helped procure loans for him, even though Sidney did not recommend it. Finally the banks refused to loan any more, but Sidney continued to give your father money.”

“Why?”

“I’m not quite certain. Perhaps your father kept reminding him of the money he paid to help Sidney many years before.”

“What was that?”

Mary sighed, not sure how much to say. “Sidney was in love with Eliza when he was a very young man. At eighteen he proposed to her and she accepted, but they would wait until he secured his financial future. She met a much older man, really her grandfather’s age, and accepted his proposal. She broke with Sidney, and he took it quite badly.”

“So this was the wealthy widow he was supposed to marry after the fire.”

“Exactly. He had met her again, quite by chance, at a ball in London, where she had just come out from her mourning period. Then he brought her to the first regatta.”

“But wait. What about this money Father paid for Sidney?”

“Yes, that was a bad spell that Sidney took after Eliza rejected him, gambling and such. He had accrued a good amount of debt, which your father paid. Then Sidney left for Antigua for eight years, well, over eight.”

“What about Charlotte?”

“Sidney and Charlotte fell in love that summer. I knew they would. She was perfect for him. He was planning to ask her to marry him at the Midsummer ball. But then…”

“The fire.”

“Yes,” Mary fiddled with her fingers now, “the night of the fire, same night as the ball.”

All was falling into place for Jenny. “So Uncle Sidney asked the rich widow to marry him, for us and for Father, is that what happened?”

“From what I understand, he did not ask her to marry him; he asked her to invest. But she insisted he marry her to secure…secure her investment.”

“He sold himself.”

“In a way.”

“That’s why Charlotte cried in her room all the time.”

“Yes, she was devastated. But that first amount of money Sidney secured through Eliza saved us from the poorhouse. And in the end, she gifted it to us. Quite remarkable really.”

“But what happened? He did not marry Eliza.”

“No. Another fantastic story. Arthur and Diana met Francis on the road, after they left Sanditon that summer. The three of them concocted this grand scheme. Eliza married another man and Francis formed an investment company to rebuild Sanditon. Sidney managed the company. And he was free to marry Charlotte.”

“That’s why Father and Sidney were always arguing. Sidney had control of the money.”

“Yes, quite right. And so all was rebuilt and then some, and your father’s debts mostly paid as well.”

“He did save us.”

“He did. He and Francis, and Arthur, and Diana."

**The Fourth of September, 1827**

_Paris_

A fine fresh day greeted them, along with distant street noise and not so distant giggling children. Breakfast again ordered from a card, with a staggering array of choices: eggs, pastries, meats, fruit and breads. The children were now enamored with the sweet egg bread, brioche, slathered with creamy butter and jam. There were bowls of café au lait and hot chocolate. When they were all quite satiated and dressed in their finest, Mary and Jenny came by to inquire about the day’s itinerary. They were so close to the Tuileries, the day so pleasant, it was decided a visit would be a fine way to start. The Molyneuxs would also accompany them, although Otis had an evening appointment with a group of French abolitionists.

They sauntered out around one o’clock, walking past Place Vendôme with its brass column erected by Napoleon to venerate his victory at Austerlitz; a statue of the Emperor himself at the top of the column. A bit unnerving to the older members of the party who remembered the wars with France.

Reaching the Tuileries, it appeared Parisians had the same thought as they, although surely many were tourists, and the grounds were teeming with people. They strolled through the wide lanes admiring the variety of trees, exquisite plantings, statues, and fountains. After a couple of hours, they continued up the Rue de Rivoli, stopping at a small café for coffees and pastries, which seemed in ever abundant supply in Paris. Both Adam and Georgie were fading fast, and a return to the hotel seemed in order.

As they all filed in through the door of the Hôtel Westminster, Sidney bringing up the rear with Adam in his arms, he heard an unmistakable voice. “Well, if it isn’t Mr Sidney Parker. What a small, small world.”

Sidney turned and there stood Sir Edward Denham.


	18. Sir and Lady Denham

Still **the Fourth of September, 1827**

_Paris_

Sidney found himself caught momentarily between what his eyes saw and his mind comprehended. Edward filled the gap. “Judging from the resemblance, I suppose I need not ask if this little tyke is yours.”

Realizing he was blocking the doorway, Sidney stepped further into the lobby. “Sir Edward, what a surprise. Yes, my son, Adam.” His eyes fell on the diminutive woman standing next to Edward, a plain but not displeasing face, extravagantly attired in a dress with huge puffy sleeves and volumes of lace. Her wide brimmed hat, laden with feather plumes and ribbons, all but swallowed her face.

Seeing Sidney’s gaze, Edward made the introduction. “May I present my wife, Lady Elizabeth Denham. My dear, this is Mr Sidney Parker, an acquaintance from the _little_ town of Sanditon I have spoken of.”

Charlotte stopped before the stairway, seeing Sidney was not with them, turned and saw… _Edward Denham?_ Jay ran to his father and Charlotte followed with Amelia. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Denham,” Sidney was saying with a bow when Jay reached his side.

“Another one,” said Edward.

“My son, Jay.”

“And do my eyes deceive me? Miss _Heywood_?” He and Elizabeth had been walking behind the Parkers as they entered the hotel, but he had not been able to fully see the woman Parker was with until now.

“Mrs Parker,” Sidney corrected, “and our daughter, Amelia.”

“Sir Edward, how… _remarkable_ to see you here,” Charlotte said.

Edward could not take his eyes off her. Could this sumptuous beauty be the pretty little country girl who came to Sanditon that summer? Extraordinary. Married to Sidney Parker. She simply exuded affluence and elegance, but in such an understated way, her fashionable dress and pelisse of the finest silk but with a minimum of frillery or embellishments. A jaunty little straw hat with silk flowers and ribbons sat askew, low over one eye. Tasteful but clearly expensive jewelry. And they had been _productive_ it appeared. Three children and possibly a fourth bun in the oven? He couldn’t quite tell. Parker looked the same, a little older, but still a bloody handsome cove as he’d always been.

Sidney noted Edward’s stare and slid his hand across the small of Charlotte’s back. “Charlotte, Lady Elizabeth Denham. Lady Denham, my wife, Mrs Charlotte Parker.” The two women briefly curtsied and nodded.

“So what brings you here?” Charlotte asked Edward.

“We are on our honeymoon,” he said, taking Elizabeth’s hand and kissing it, “are we not, my dearest?”

“Yes, she said in a soft voice, “we arrived from New York, landed at Le Harve a few days ago.”

Sidney then remembered Babington said Edward was in New York, engaged to a rich banker’s daughter. "Congratulations. We wish you great happiness."

“Thank you. Dreadful ride coming here, though,” Edward added. “And what brings _you_ here?”

“In Paris for only a few days, then off to the south coast to stay with my brother, Arthur, sister, Diana, and her husband,” Sidney answered.

“Nice? Marseille?” asked Edward.

“No, a little place called Saint-Tropez, on the Gulf of Grimaud.”

“Never heard of it. For how long?”

“Nor had we, but they seem very happy there. Until the end of the year.” Adam began to squirm. “Well, it has been a pleasure, but I am afraid we have little ones to attend to, so we’ll be off.”

“Surely you have a nanny?” inquired Elizabeth.

“We do, but we prefer to care for the children ourselves whenever we can,” Charlotte said. Elizabeth looked puzzled but did not reply.

“You are staying here, at the Westminster, I assume?” asked Edward.

“We are. You as well?”

“Yes. What a coincidence. We should have a drink together, Parker, just you and me. I’ll send you a note. Good day to you. Mrs Parker,” he nodded.

They headed to the front desk, and the Parkers went to the stairs as quickly as possible. Once she was sure they were out of earshot she said, “Edward Denham? I am shocked.”

“So am I.”

Once inside their suite, the children ran to their room and began giggling and tussling. “All right, enough,” said their father. “Adam needs to sleep a little. What about you two?”

The three settled down and used the chamber pot, and Amelia asked half a dozen questions, and eventually they all dozed off.

“Of all the people we could have run into,” said Sidney.

“Yes, so strange.”

“You know, I had nothing against Edward; the only thing he ever did to me was thwart my first attempt to propose to you, not deliberately. I've known him since we were children, never was close to him, though. With Crowe and Babington, I find myself caught in the middle over what Esther and Clara tells each, but Edward is the culprit in both their stories. And I have to say, I did _not_ like the way he looked at you.”

“He is a bit of a lecher. I thought that from the moment I met him at Trafalgar House. I already feel sorry for his wife. I ignore him, and besides…” She went to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, “I have my protector.” She lifted her chin to kiss him, but he pulled back, tilted his head up just a bit, looking down at her with the slightest smile on the edges of his mouth.

“Is that all I am to you? Your protector?”

She looked at him with a trace of seduction in her eyes, and ran her finger over the edge of his ear. “No, you are my husband…”

“And?”

She traced his jawline. “The father of my children…”

“And?”

She brushed her finger across his lips. “My lover…”

“Now you’re getting close.”

She reached up and caressed his lips with hers, whispering into them, “And you are the man I love.”

He whispered back to her. “There it is. The most important one. Say it again.”

“The man I love.”

“Forever?”

“Forever and ever.”

Now he kissed her properly.

”How long do you think we have?” he said into her ear.

“Half an hour? At least for Jay.”

“Let’s not waste time then.”

###

The children had dinner in the room with Georgie joining, as Georgiana decided to accompany Otis to his meeting with the Abolitionists. Nanny Grey and Crockett watched the children while Charlotte and Sidney dressed for the evening, valet and maid coming to administer the final touches. Haskell wanted to try a new hairstyle she’d seen, parted in the middle with the back hair swept up, braided and put into a top knot on the crown, the sides pinned into wide, loose curls. Most fetching with Charlotte’s off the shoulder dress. They joined Mary and Jenny for dinner in the Westminster Restaurant.

The room was splendidly appointed, with gilt mirrors and crystal chandeliers, separate tables for any number of diners, all set with silver and glassware. The card of choices was enormous, a dozen soups, two dozen _hors-d’oeuvres_ , beef prepared myriad ways, fowl, fish, veal, mutton, game, meats baked in pastry, all manner of side dishes…

Jenny was overwhelmed. “I was just so when we came in ’20,” said Charlotte. She went through the selections with Jenny to help her decide, making her own decisions at the same time.

They had champagne and wine, working through multiple courses, desserts, coffee. Charlotte took care to eat and drink lightly less she have indigestion later.

They told Mary about meeting Edward Denham. “And he’s here, in this hotel?”

They both nodded.

“Oh my,” was all she could say.

Towards the end of their meal, a waiter brought Sidney a note on a silver salver. It was from Edward.

_Parker, I see you are enjoying dinner. Meet me in the bar around half past ten if you care to. I’ll be there anyway. E.D._

“Are you going to go?”

“I suppose it would be a cut if I did not.”

When all was finished, they toddled back to their rooms. It was just after half past ten. He kissed Charlotte. “I will not be long; I promise you that.”

He spotted Edward seated on the cushioned bench of a booth in the dimly lit bar, nursing a snifter of cognac. Edward waved to him. Sidney slid onto the bench across the table. “Edward. What is it you want of me?”

“What kind of a greeting is that?”

“You heard what I said. You’re a newlywed. What are you doing in a bar? I have been married eight years and I did not care to leave my wife.”

“Well, considering who your wife is…”

He tamped down the urge to reach across the table and grab him by the neck. Instead he narrowed his eyes and hit the table one time with his fist. “Do not ever speak of my wife in that manner. Do you understand?”

“I’m not trying to duel with you, Parker, it was a compliment. Have a drink.”

“I'll pass. The question remains, what are you doing down here?”

“A marriage of convenience. I wanted her money. She wanted a title. Simple. But you…when I left Town, way back in ‘19, you were engaged to a rich widow. What happened there?

“I ended it and married the woman I love.”

“Ah, yes, Miss Heywood would only marry for love. But it seems you have done quite well in the money arena, have you not.”

Sidney bristled again, but fought it. He knew Edward was baiting him.

“We are comfortable.”

“I see. Well, I have no wish to battle with you, Sidney. Do you still gamble?”

“I am a family man, Edward.”

“Family men gamble.”

“This one does not.”

“Too bad. There’s a fabulous spot, Frascati’s, I’d love to go there with you.”

“Sorry.” He paused. “What do you _want_ , Edward?”

“I simply wanted to catch up on old times. I correspond with my dear sister once a year or so. I understand she’s a mother three times as your wife is. Guess all is well in the Babington household. And I hear Miss Brereton married your friend, Francis Crowe. So we are all happy. Elizabeth and I are considering moving back to England for a time. Her family is from Scotland, originally. I must tell you though, it’s a fascinating place, America. Such a young, vibrant country.”

“Then why would you return to England?”

“Opportunity.”

Sidney sighed and rose from his seat. “I think I shall retire to my room now. Good night, Edward.”

“Yes, I’d retire, too, if I had that waiting in my bed.”

Sidney was upon him so quickly, Edward had no time to think, finding himself in the air, held by his lapels. Sidney snarled at him. “I told you, _never_ speak of my wife that way.” He slammed Edward back into the seat. “Good night, Edward. My best to _your_ wife.”

“Sir Edward.”

He turned, and crossed back to the table, looming over Edward. “In public, yes, but this is you and me alone. I remember when you wet your skeleton suit, _Edward._ Good night.”

Well, well, thought Edward. Mr Sidney Parker would be gone from Sanditon for some time. Word had it that his brother Tom was something of a village idiot at this point. Maybe things would be ripe for the picking. Something to think about.

Charlotte was asleep when he entered the room. One candle burning on the bedside table. He stripped down and slipped into the bed, pulling her into him, kissing her neck. She sighed. “Back already?”

“It was too long as it was.”

“Tell me in the morning.”

“In the morning.” He reached over and snuffed the candle between his thumb and finger.


	19. Day Two - Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all your wonderful comments and insights.

**The Fifth of September, 1827**

_Paris_

_Winter sea. Cold, slate gray, choppy. He swims towards the beach where they all stand, wide eyed Charlotte with her hand covering her mouth, but the current is pulling, dragging him farther and farther out. He swims so fiercely his lungs burn, but they on the shore grow smaller and smaller. He panics, begins to thrash, to try to break the pull. “Sidney, Sidney…” she calls him, her voice far away._ I have to get back to her, I must _… but she grows smaller still._

“Sidney!” Her voice was next to him; she shook him; his eyes bolted open. He breathed hard, his heart pounded. “You’re here, with me.”

He could not speak. His breathing was still fitful. He rubbed his eyes and worked to calm himself. She held his head, stroked his hair, comforted him as she did the children. “It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

He found his voice. “Yes, sorry. I’m all right.”

“What was it?”

“I was being dragged out to sea by the current. I could see you on the shore. But I could not get back.” He burrowed into her neck.

“Was last night with Edward that bad?”

“No. Annoying…” He rolled over onto his back. “What time is it?”

“Early.”

“Are the children up?”

“Not that I’ve heard.”

“I have to write to Babington. Today. Edward is up to something, I’m not quite sure what. He has money now. Says it’s a marriage of convenience. He claims they want to move back to England. I have a feeling he wants revenge of some kind. He baited me, then wanted me to go gambling. Made unsavory remarks about you, even after I warned him not to.” He turned his head to look at her. “Do not let him anywhere near you. If he comes to this door, do not let him in under any circumstances.”

“I will not. Did he say why he wants to move back?”

“ _Opportunity_.”

“Did you ask what he meant?”

“He would not have told me anyway. I left him at that point. We should stay away from them for the next two days if at all possible.”

“He has her money, so what did she want. His title?”

“So he says.”

“She doesn’t look the type. And she’s American. I thought they threw us out over all that.”

“Family is Scottish. Who knows? You cannot believe a word that leaves his mouth.”

The door to the children’s room opened and they expected Adam, but it was Jay, his face and eyes red from crying. “What is it?” they both said.

He came to their bed and stood beside it, downcast eyes. “Come up.” He crawled up and lay down between them. “Did you have a bad dream?” his mother asked.

“I was all tied up. They had me all tied up, dragging me away.”

“Who had you tied up?”

“Little goblins. Bad men.”

“Oh, sweet boy, it was just a dream. Your papa had a bad dream, and see, he is fine.”

“You had a bad dream, too?”

“I did, but it is gone now. Queen Mab visited the Parker family.”

“What was yours?”

“Oh, I don’t remember.” No reason to add to Jay’s, which sounded bad enough.

“Are the others awake?”

“Ammy is.”

“Ammy? When did you start to call her Ammy?”

“Just now.”

“I’m not sure she will like that.”

“I have a neke name.”

“You can thank Papa for that.”

“John Joseph was too long for a little baby,” Sidney said.

“You know the story. First he called you JJ, your initials. Then it became Jay.”

“Then Ammy because Amelia is too long,” Jay said.

“I think you need to ask Amelia if she wants to be called Ammy. What is she doing in there anyway?”

“Looking at a book.”

“I don’t even know why you asked,” Sidney said to her.

She made a face at him over Jay’s head. “Now, what do you want for breakfast? What should we order today?”

“Brioche!”

“What will you do when we get back home and you have no brioche?”

“We must learn to make it,” he said, giggling.

“All right, now you are better. Go see what your sister and brother are doing,” Sidney said.

Jay scooted off the bed and ran to the other room.

“Queen Mab did visit us, it seems.”

Crockett came with a note from Georgiana while they ate breakfast.

_Bonjour!_

_You will never believe who we saw staggering out of the bar when we returned from our meeting late last night. Edward Denham! He was so drunk I am not sure he even knew who I was. So he is here in the hotel. Ghastly! The bad penny turns up._

_To change the subject, are we still going to the natural history museum today? Quelle huere?_

_G_

Sidney sat at the writing table penning his letter to Babington. Charlotte dropped the note in front of him. “Bad penny, indeed,” he said.

“Is Babington still in Sanditon?”

“Til late in the month. This should reach him before he goes. I will drop it off at the post office.”

“You cannot leave it with the front desk to post?”

“No, I think I would rather take it myself. To be certain it gets there.”

###

All ten of them, plus Nanny Grey and Crockett, set out in hired Hackney coaches for _Muséum National d'Histoire Naturelle_ and the _Jardin des Plantes._ Charlotte let Georgiana know they already had an encounter with Edward, filling her in on the details and what Sidney had told her about his conversation in the bar.

“He could barely make it up the stairs when we saw him,” Georgiana said. “I would not be at all surprised if he’s out for some kind revenge as Sidney thinks. The question is, against who? Esther? Clara? Sanditon? Makes my flesh creep.”

They left thoughts of Edward Denham behind and enjoyed the museum with its long galleries full of fossils, bones of numerous beasts, bird eggs and nests of all kinds, elephant tusks. There was hair of an extinct mammoth found in a block of ice in Siberia. Moths, beetles and butterflies and other insects displayed on pins. Mineral and rock specimens. They strolled through the gardens of medicinal plants, the glass houses full of exotic botany specimens. The climbed the mount for a panoramic view of Paris.

Jenny sketched every moment she could. The buildings and grounds were filled with students from the Sorbonne, attending the lectures, using the libraries, studying the collections. A few smiled or nodded in her direction. She returned the greeting and went back to her sketching, feeling contented.

A small café in the neighborhood provided a _déjeuner froid à la fourchette,_ a luncheon of cold sandwiches, pates, eggs, meats. The Hackneys dropped them back at the Westminster late in the afternoon. They would dine at Le Grand Véfour, walking distance from their hotel.

A hotel attendant brought Sidney another note. From Edward.

_Parker, Please accept my apology for my behavior last night. I hope to enjoy your company again before your departure. E. D._

The six of them, attired in evening clothes, stepped into the warm twilight for the short walk to the restaurant, engaged in lively conversation as they went. Then from behind them, “I say, are you heading to the same place we are?”

Edward and Elizabeth were behind them now. “I’ll take this,” said Mary. “Keep Jenny with you, Sidney.”

Mary dropped back and walked with the Denhams, carrying on an exchange mostly with Lady Denham.

“He has paid someone at the hotel desk to inform of our activity. I am sure of it,” Sidney whispered to Charlotte.

The restaurant accommodated the larger party, and at the long table, Mary, Elizabeth and Edward were on one end. Sidney, Jenny and Charlotte were on the other, with Otis and Georgiana in between. Otis and Georgiana spoke at length about their meeting the evening before. Elizabeth appeared uninterested, so Mary engaged her in conversation. Sidney and Charlotte both noted the animated discussion between the two women. Edward seemed to sit and stew at his end seat, with Georgiana to his left, who paid him no mind, and no one to his right. The walk back to the hotel was uneventful. In the lobby, Edward asked if anyone would like to have a cognac in the bar with him. No one did. Elizabeth gave him a melancholy look, and he threw up his hands and accompanied her upstairs.

After they returned to their room and released Nanny Grey from her duties and kissed the children, and Haskell assisted Charlotte with her dress and hair, readying her for sleep. They were finally alone, the door locked. 

“Cannot wait to talk to Mary. What an odd person Elizabeth seems. Do you think she’s in love with him?”

“You’re asking me? I’m a man, how should I know?”

“You are not just any man.”

“True, but still…I am no judge of the affections of a woman I hardly know.”

“I do feel sorry for her.”

“She said _I do_.”

“We do not know the full story.”

“I’m not sure I care to know.”

She walked to the bed and sat primly. “Look at this. All alone in our Paris hotel room with a big, soft bed. Children asleep. Whatever shall we do?”

He knelt down before her, slipped his hands under her gown and up, stroking the inside of her thighs. “I know where I want to start.”


	20. Two Realities

**The Sixth of September, 1827**

_Sanditon_

A solitary figure in a stovepipe hat marched along the cliff path mid-morning, coattails flapping and cane pumping along with each lengthy stride. Tom Parker was most unhappy with Lord Babington, and he had no doubt Babington took his cues from Sidney. Even though his brother was now far away, he continued to keep his stranglehold on everything Tom wanted to accomplish.

He was all alone in the house, no Mary, no children, only his thoughts that even now flew from one point to another like a bee in a spring orchard, gathering pollen and nectar as Tom gathered notions. He was hoping to build a permanent amusement at the east end of town. A beer hall perhaps. Donkey rides for the children. What good were Lady Denham’s donkeys anyway? No one wanted ass’s milk. But, _No_ , Babington had said. _No building now. No discussion until next spring_. It was because Sidney was gone. He just knew it. Sidney influenced everything Babington did.

Before he realized, he had walked all the way to the Parker House. There it was, down in the hole. God he was glad to get rid of it. The money came in quite handy at the time, even if it was long gone now. He rarely came this way, perhaps Charlotte’s 30th birthday celebration in March was the last time. The dining room held no more than sixteen, so all big family functions were held at Trafalgar House, as he had the forethought to design a dining room that could easily seat twenty-four. And foolish Sidney built a wing for the children and cottages for servants rather than improve the rooms for entertaining guests. He walked towards the old place, which he had to admit looked well cared for and charming in its way, when Evans, the groundskeeper approached him.

“Mr Parker, sir, what brings you here?”

“Oh, just walking about, thought I’d look in on the old place for my brother. All is well?”

“Quite well, sir. The house, of course, is closed up, furniture and all covered. Mrs Bunting still uses the kitchen for meals for those of us who remain. Should I ask for some tea for you, sir?”

“Perhaps later. How many of you remain?”

“Mrs Evans and myself, Mr Bainbridge and the grooms, of course the horses still need caring for, Mrs Bunting, and the gardener. Maids, footman and drivers were all given leave to visit family. Haskell, Roland and Nanny went to France with the family.”

“You like it here, then, working for my brother?”

“Indeed, they are good people. Very kind. Pay us well, give bonuses and holiday gifts, generous time off. We have fine accommodations compared to many. Mrs Evans and I were very happy to find positions where we could work together and have our own cozy cottage to live in.”

“I see,” said Tom. “Mind if I take a look inside? It’s been some time.”

“Everything’s covered, sir, but if you like.” He went to the old carved front door and retrieved the proper key. “So very quiet without the little ones. They are a joy, those three.”

Tom stepped into the vestibule and then the great room. “Perhaps I’ll have tea in a bit,” he said. As Evans had told, dust covers were draped everywhere. He lifted the covering on the painting over the fireplace. Yes, it was still the one of Joshua Parker. They had not moved that. If only he had taken it when he moved to Trafalgar House. Instead he had a portrait of Sidney. He should have one painted of himself and hang it in that spot, give Sidney his. Wouldn’t Mary be pleased? Capital idea, that was.

Sidney had at least two portraits painted since he married Charlotte. One of them after they wed. Then the one with them and Jay and Amelia when she was born. Suppose he’ll have another one done when they return with the new babe and the littlest one now, what was his name? Oh yes, Adam. Only Sidney would name his _second_ son after the First Man and himself. _Adam Sidney Parker_. Absurd.

He wandered into the new addition, the children’s wing they called it, nursery and several separate bedrooms, a playroom and school room, all adjacent to the master chamber, which now had a large sitting room. To each his own. Ah, here was where they hung the portraits, in their private sitting room. Well, they could have the one from Trafalgar House, as well. He was tired of looking at Sidney.

And here in the nursery, he saw hanging on the wall, silhouettes done of the children and themselves, all in oval gilt frames. Certainly Sidney had money, no question there, but whenever he asked him, Sidney would say, _We are comfortable_. Comfortable? He was quite sure Sidney had a _fortune_ , always buying Charlotte expensive clothing and jewelry. Paying for Mary and Jenny’s entire trip there and back. Three carriages and a dozen horses. No doubt he had a fortune. He simply had no intention of sharing it with his brother, Tom thought bitterly, but not entirely sure why. 

Of course, Sidney did work, apparently his import business was rather lucrative. He after all learned the shipping business from the ones who ran Father’s. Tom never learned how the business actually worked. Perhaps Father thought he would just figure it out by himself. He never did completely because he had no interest, and was quite happy to sell it. His real talent was creating, and Sanditon was his masterpiece. Not shipping. What a dreary business. He could still remember seeing before Antigua Sidney hunched over his little desk in the backroom of Father’s office, mountains of paperwork all about. No, that was not the life for Tom Parker. Never was and never would be.

He went to the hall and towards the back and the door to the new covered terrace. Now this was a nice addition. He stepped out and saw all the furniture had been stowed and covered. Too bad. It would have been pleasant to have tea there. Mrs Evans was behind him. “Ready for tea, Mr Parker?”

“Yes, thank you. Possible I could sit out here?”

“Of course. I will ask Mr Evans to bring out a chair and folding tray from the kitchen. I hope that will suffice?”

Tom enjoyed his tea and biscuits while overlooking the garden and small manicured lawn, has to be hand cut -- expensive to maintain _,_ he thought. No wonder Mary came here so often during the warm months. She would come home and say, _Oh, it is so very cool and nice on their covered terrace; we sat and had a lovely chat while the children played on the lawn._ Other times she would say, _It was blowing so hard on the cliffs, but out on their terrace it was just balmy with a slight breeze._ Perhaps he would have to build one of these on Trafalgar House.

When he was leaving he asked Evans, “Was it James Stringer who did the addition?”

“No sir, it was his company though. Mr Stringer was busy with Dr Fuchs' clinic, but he came often to inspect.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Well, thank you so much. I shall inform my brother his home is being well cared for in his absence.”

“Good day, Mr Parker, sir,” Evans called, but Tom was already up the drive on his way back to the cliff road.

_Paris_

Being their last day in Paris, Sidney and Otis went to the British Embassy that morning to have all the passports signed by the ambassador and ensure their passage south was in order. Sidney also wanted to confirm the protocol for British citizens having a child born in France, and requested information about the location of Anglican churches for a christening ceremony. The passports had to be countersigned after at the Ministry of Police and a fee paid, along with details of where they planned to travel. Both men also wanted to confirm their lines of credit with the French bank, to avoid any chance of finding themselves stranded without ready access to funds. The French Bank extended credit based on the letters from the British bank, which later reimbursed the French bank from the travelers' accounts. With so many passports involved, the tasks took most of the morning.

The ladies spent their morning writing letters home and conversing. Jenny and Amelia were adding to their diary project. Mary had much and yet little to say of the new Lady Denham. “She seems shy and reserved at first, but I found myself wondering if it was a bit put on. I don’t know why. Very wealthy family, a Seton, connected with the Bank of New York. She met Edward through mutual friends, and it was known it seems, he was open for marriage. She thinks he’s wonderfully handsome, which of course he is…”

“He looks almost exactly as he did in Sanditon,” Georgiana said.

“Yes,” agreed Charlotte. “He seems not to have aged much. A little less hair, maybe.” At that, all three of them burst into laughter.

“So all was rather vague about moving to England. She says Edward has told her _so much_ about Sanditon. It made me wonder. She’s very unhappy that he was forced to sell, her words mind you, forced to sell his ancestral home. Maybe they plan to buy it back.”

“Oh, I hope not. Sidney will not like that one bit.”

“No, probably not. But mostly we conversed about fashion and children, as she appears to be wanting a family. Maybe I am simply not used to Americans.”

Upon the return of the men, all decided shopping was in order, and perhaps the possibility of an afternoon visit to Notre-Dame de Paris, the mother church of France. Even though it still stood in terrible disrepair from the effects of the Revolution and Napoleon’s wars, there was no sight quite like it.

Adam and Georgie were toured out, so they were to remain in the hotel. All set off for a stationery shop to load up on paper, pencils and drawing supplies, stopped at a bookstore where Charlotte found a good map of France so the children could plot the journey, a suggestion from Nanny Grey and a very good one at that. Charlotte and Georgiana both purchased some readymade boys’ trousers, as it appeared the fashion in Paris was moving away from skeleton suits for little boys and directly into trousers and breeches.

Late afternoon, with so little time left, they forwent the cathedral visit, instead opting to supervise packing, dine lightly, and get a good night’s rest. It would be a very long journey to Lyon, and another long one after to the sea. They would all take advantage of the amenities at the Westminster and pamper themselves for tonight. 

###

Sidney, clad in his robe, rested on a chair in the corner while Haskell plaited Charlotte’s hair, tied the ribbons on her robe, and whisked her clothing away for spot cleaning and packing in the morning.

When the door was closed, Sidney locked it and came to Charlotte. He pulled her up and stood her before the ornate cheval mirror, standing behind her. “I do not know why she takes such pains to tie these ribbons. Surely she knows I will just untie them.” He reached to do just that.

“She thinks perhaps you need something to do?”

He laughed softly and grazed her neck with his teeth. “We’re headed for many nights of three cots in our room. Let’s enjoy this one.”

“You know,” she said teasingly, “some women think twice a month with their husband is more than enough.”

He caught her eye in the mirror and untied the first ribbon. “Perhaps their husbands do not know how to please them.”

“How fortunate I am to have a husband who does.”

He finished untying the ribbons and opened her robe, running his hands down her and cupping her belly. “It is difficult and dangerous for you, but I love this time, when you are with child.”

“When I am fat?”

He looked at her in the mirror. “Stop. You are not _fat_. You are a goddess. If only you could see yourself through my eyes. And... we don’t have to be careful, the deed is done.”

“Do you mean to tell me you do not like leaving before you finish?”

“As much as I like leaving the table to have my dessert while standing outside.”

“Well, it’s better than not at all.”

“True. We’ll have enough of that after this one comes.”

She smiled and covered his hands, positioning them. “She’s moving.”

He closed his eyes, feeling, then opened them to hers in the mirror. “So she is. Do you think she will mind if her papa has his way with you for a while?”

“None of the others did. They adore you.”

“Maybe that’s why.” He scooped her up into his arms.


	21. Traveling Again

**The Seventh of September, 1827**

_Paris and On the Road_

Sidney gave all the party’s letters to Monsieur Talbot to take to the post office for mailing, and being the discreet guide he was, there were no questions asked. Included among the letters to family and friends, Sidney had written to both Crowe, warning of Edward’s possible appearance in England, and the solicitor who handled the affairs of the Sanditon project, to be wary of any odd requests or correspondences from Tom, and to alert Lord Babington at once. Monsieur Talbot returned from his errand with baskets of fruit and chocolate for each coach.

As the Parkers and Molyneuxs waited in front of the hotel for the luggage to be loaded onto coaches, Sir and Lady Denham departed the hotel. Mary struck up a conversation with Elizabeth as Edward spoke to the doorman.

“I realized I completely overlooked asking you what the rest of your travel plans were. Will you travel outside of Paris?” Mary asked.

“We shall be here for a fortnight, then on to Genoa and other points in Italy, Florence, Rome, our itinerary is somewhat unfixed. Edward wishes to be home by Christmas.”

“New York?”

“No, London.”

“Yes, London during the season is quite lovely. Well, our coaches are ready. I wish you a delightful stay. Most pleasant meeting you and seeing Sir Edward again. We wish you Bon Voyage!”

Edward heard the tail end as he approached and tipped his hat. “Yes, _Bon Voyage_ to all of you.” Something about the way he said it made Mary most uncomfortable.

Leaving Paris, they passed through several dark and depressing areas of the outer city before reaching the pastoral high land overlooking the Seine. The road was good and paved with small pebbles and crushed rock, the scenery dotted with tidy villages and cottage gardens, distant grand châteaux, animals grazing in pastures. Diligence coaches, Post chaises, private carriages shared the road with them, as they had when traveling towards Paris. Sometimes beggars would approach the coaches, but the drivers did not stop. Monsieur Talbot warned stopping would be dangerous, possibly leading to robbery, overturned carriages, and worse.

Then the ancient forest of Fontainebleau, hunting ground of French kings since Francis I, surrounded them. In the distance, the great Château de Fontainebleau could be seen from the road, but they had no time to vary from their travels for a visit. Montargis was their destination for the night, a trip of at least ten hours. At one point a hunting party rode by and asked one of the drivers if anyone had seen their hounds, then with “Merci, merci,” galloped off at the sound of baying in the distance.

They continued as usual, lessons on slates, reading, stories, sleeping. Stops to rest the horses, to relieve themselves, for coffee and pastries in a small wayside inn. They passed groves of chestnut trees and viewed the River Loing on their left side. They approached dark, forbidding clouds on the horizon, riding directly into a dense rainstorm, making the road muddy and slowing their pace.

The servant’s carriage stopped briefly for Roland and Offiah to take seats inside. Offiah was pleased to find himself next to Crockett, who had the nanny on her other side. He turned his hips diagonally in the seat to use as little room as possible, and though it moved him away from touching Crockett’s arm, he could see her face more readily. The conversation turned to the beggars they had seen, and the women asked what the drivers had said of it. From there, they discussed the poor population in England, leading quite naturally to a discussion of the work of the Molyneuxs. Offiah spoke movingly of his impressment and in the Royal Navy, how he was spared the fate starving in the streets because of his time on _HMS_ _Caledonia_ with Petty Officer Molyneux.

As Mathilde watched him voice his story, she thought it odd she had never noticed how handsome he was. His strong jaw and dazzling smile. The large deep brown eyes had a kindness to them.

The three on the seat across carried on another discussion. Nanny Grey reengaged in her book. “What is your given name?” Offiah asked her.

At first she thought him impertinent. She studied his face again. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I would like to think of you as something other than Miss _Crockett_. Is that unacceptable to you?”

“What is yours?” she asked.

“Abeo. _The bringer of happiness_ in my language.”

“Abeo Offiah?”

“Precisely. And you?”

“Mathilde.”

“Mathilde Crockett. From Antigua. Born there?”

“I was. Born a slave. Belonged to my mistress’s father. He gave me to her for her tenth birthday. I was fifteen, or so I was told.”

“But you were freed?”

“Yes, I am a free woman. I work for pay. I can leave if I want.”

“But you will not.”

“Why should I? I have a good life. You work the same as I do.”

“Yes, and I will never forget Mr Molyneux’s kindness. But someday I will leave this job, maybe soon, to be my own man.”

“Return to your country? Nigeria?”

“Perhaps.”

###

The hour was late when they pulled in front of the inn in Montargis, well after ten o’clock, so delayed they were by the rain and muddy road. The patroness scurried to check them in and call for the stable master, Sidney and Otis signing the register for their families and the unaccompanied women with them. The two valets signed for themselves. The children had been asleep. Jay was roused and walked on his own; Sidney carried Amelia, and Charlotte, Adam. Otis carried Georgie. They put the children directly to bed. Monsieur Talbot asked the patroness for a substantial breakfast in the morning, as they had not eaten a proper dinner that night.

_Of course, of course. Did the Monsieurs et Madames care for a cold plate?_

Wine, a soft pungent cheese, grapes, and bread were sent.

They ate a little, talking quietly. Maid and valet came to assist and were released to tend to themselves and get some sleep. Sidney brushed and plaited her hair. It was not the first time he had done so. He put above his pillow the little leather satchel he wore when on the road, carrying all their papers, bank notes, the little pouch of jewelry she brought. They slipped into sleep within moments of the candle’s snuff.

**The Eighth of September, 1827**

_Montargis and Nevers_

The children woke early, cranky and hungry. The patroness had soft scrambled eggs with cheese and herbs sent up, plenty of breads and pastries, café au lait and hot chocolate. Jay traveled with the Molyneuxs, Georgie in the Parker coach with Adam, making the ride a jolly cavalcade of mischief and nonsense, silly stories and songs, tickling and giggling, until finally the two best friends fell asleep.

At Briare they met the Loire River, but also a squalid population of beggars, offering beadwork reticules and other pieces for sale. The town itself appeared most prosperous, but the poor in the countryside were much in evidence. Again, the drivers did not stop.

At Cosne, it was the same, and the beggars always respectful, as they were everywhere. Never stopping, the coaches barreled on. And now they followed the Loire River, with views of pastures, hills of gnarled grape vines on their trellises, groves of forest. By seven in the evening they reached Nevers, in time for a meal at the inn towards the center of the town. They would spend the next day, Sunday, there as well. The patron was a bit stern but the rooms were clean and the food appetizing.

**The Ninth of September, 1827**

_Nevers_

They attended Sunday services in the Nevers Cathedral, Romanesque, ancient. Mostly they wished to walk, stretch their legs and enjoy the sunshine. Evening meal was a cold buffet set out for guests to serve themselves. Tomorrow they should arrive in Roanne, then a short trip to Lyon the day after.

The children sleeping nearby, Sidney and Charlotte lay quietly in their bed, on their sides facing each other, foreheads touching, whispering. He rubbed the small of her back in circular strokes. 

“I’m so tired,” she said, “how can one be so tired from doing nothing?”

“I know. Strange, is it not?”

“I wonder how Tom is.”

“We will not know anything, if there is anything to know, until we arrive in Saint-Tropez.”

“You are sure there is nothing he can do to jeopardize us?”

“I’m sure. He has no access to any funds other than his own personal accounts. The rents and all other revenue go directly to the solicitor. He has control of his own property, but all the loans he took to build the assembly rooms and other buildings that were paid by the company have terms forbidding new loans without investor approval. All the properties we developed are the same; he has no ability to do anything to them. He would have to jump through numerous legal roadblocks to sell or develop further. He can ruin himself personally, but he cannot ruin Sanditon. And he cannot hurt us in any way. We are not connected financially. I forgave most of his debt to me. The rest is repaid through the company and the solicitor.”

“And he is incorruptible?”

“Jones? The solicitor? Absolutely. Francis is involved in all that as well. No, the only life Tom can wreck is his own, and sadly Mary’s and the children’s by association. But at least we are in a situation to assuage that somewhat for her if, God forbid, it ever happened.”

“How many days left on the road?”

“Hmmm, not sure, six I think. But one is an extra day in Lyon.”

“I hope it’s a nice hotel.”

“A suite, I asked for a suite.”

“Sidney?”

“Hmmm?”

“Did I tell you today that I love you?”

“Maybe. This morning?”

“I love you.”

“You’re sure? Even though I dragged you off on this foolish trip to France?”

“It is not foolish. We’re just tired. And you did not drag me.”

“How different my life would have been if Tom hadn’t been frantically searching Willingden for a physician.”

“But he did,” she murmured.

“And for that one thing, I am eternally grateful for my brother’s frequent lack of good judgment.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Charlotte?” he whispered.

But she was asleep.


	22. Lyon or Bust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there. Whew!

**The Tenth of September, 1827**

_On the Road between Nevers and Roanne_

Three hours into the day’s travel, they were soon to approach Moulins at perhaps a quarter or half past ten. Mary traded places with Amelia in the coaches today, and at that moment she was handing out chocolate. Jay savored his, watching the pastures and hills roll by. “Papa? Is taking a risk like gambling?”

“In a way. Why do you ask?” said his father.

“When we were at the Heywood house last, I told Will and the others about the man on the horse at the circus. Will said, I guess the man knew the risk when he became a trick rider, same as the man who gambles his money at cards.”

“Well,” said Sidney, “you could say a risk is anything that could happen, often in a bad way. It is chance or happenstance that spoils one’s plans. Most of life is not without risk because we cannot control everything that occurs, but we can take measures to reduce the threat.”

“Such as buying insurance,” Mary said almost to herself.

“Yes, buying insurance,” he agreed softly.

“Because insurance will pay you if something happens by chance,” said Jay.

His father nodded. “Precisely. One can anticipate risks and try to outwit them, to plan for them. We knew traveling all the way across France was not without risk. There could be accidents or highwaymen, any number of things. So we hired people who know about traveling to take care of the details, and we are in strong coaches to prevent accidents, and we have protection.”

“The two men on horses?”

“Yes, they are protecting us.”

“Sometimes the one in front leaves.”

“He does not leave us; he rides up the road to scout for problems.”

“Such as a big diligence coach coming,” said Charlotte.

Sidney gestured in affirmation. “So, that is how we lessened our risk on this trip, by planning for it. But gambling is…a game for one thing, a game that involves taking risks because chance is involved. Unless one cheats, and no honorable man would ever do so, you are at the mercy of the cards, of the hand you are dealt. The skill in gambling is knowing how to play the game to your advantage, despite the risk involved.”

“So the man on the horse at the circus knew his job was dangerous, then why did he do it?”

“I cannot tell you that. Perhaps he liked the thrill of it, which is why many people gamble. Possibly he had been trick riding for years and years and never had an accident until then. Of course what he did was _risky_ , but he had skill to lessen the risk. The horse stumbled; it was unforeseen, but I am sure they take every precaution to make sure it happens rarely. You can walk in a thunderstorm one hundred times and never be struck by lightning, but perhaps on the one hundred and first time, you will.”

“The moral is do not walk in a thunderstorm,” Jay replied.

“Indeed,” said Charlotte.

They all looked out the windows for a time.

“Did you gamble, Papa?”

Charlotte and Mary both looked at Sidney, who raised his eyebrows as if to say, _What?_

He looked out the window again, then back at Jay. “Yes, when I was a young unmarried man, I went to the card tables at times. Outside of a bad spell when I was very young and _very_ foolish, I did quite well most of the time.”

“You mean you won?”

“I won.”

“Why did you stop if you won?”

“Because I had _better_ ways to spend my time after your mother and I married. In fact,” he said with a playful grin at Charlotte, “I gave up most all my gentlemanly pursuits after we married, even boxing.”

“I seem to remember a young man who could not wait to marry Miss Heywood,” said Mary.

“I am not complaining,” he replied with a beatific smile.

“Your Papa used to smoke, too,” said Charlotte.

“He did?”

“Oh yes,” Mary chuckled, “I almost forgot, those little cigarillos in the ivory holder.”

“Between his teeth,” said Charlotte, imitating him, the two of them laughing.

“Go ahead, have a laugh at my expense,” he said with a mock sigh. That was the hardest one to give up, smoking. He was down to perhaps five or ten a week, mostly in his study as he did paperwork. Charlotte had been early on with Jay and it made her terribly nauseous, not just in the air, but on him, his mouth and hands. He could not see that smoking was worth not kissing his wife. He gave away his remaining cigarillos, cleaned the carved ivory holder, set it inside the silver case given to him by George Lambe, and tucked it in the very back of a drawer in his desk. He never took it out again. At first he noticed tastes were more vivid. Then he found he was less winded after a hard ride or swim. In the end the only part he missed occasionally was something to do with his hands. And then, not at all.

At Moulins, they stopped for a meal, most likely the last until Roanne. A long drive was ahead, and they had breakfasted quite early. In a small inn, they had pâté de pommes de terre, a potato cake in flaky pastry crust filled with sliced potatoes and crème fraiche, baked to golden brown. The patroness served it with a salad of mache and other tender greens. A grassy, crisp white wine and apple cider were poured freely.

Back on the road again. They turned east at Varennes and no longer followed the Allier River. An endless parade of fields and hills and pastures rolled on before them. They slept, talked, played cards, (now Jay was determined to have his father teach him), sang, read. At Lapalisse midafternoon they changed horse teams. The country became more rugged as they climbed in elevation and passed over into the Loire valley.

Late in the evening the reached their inn in Roanne, an old town along the Loire River. The same protocol of recent days: sign the register, bring in the children, a cold meal sent to the rooms. Exhaustion from doing nothing, for hours and hours and hours.

“We were insane to do this.”

“Were we?”

“I don’t know what do you think?”

“I think we are very, very tired.”

**The Eleventh of September, 1827**

_Roanne to Lyon_

Up at dawn the party set out early. With luck they should arrive at Lyon in the afternoon. Heading east again, away from the Loire valley, up into the hills, past Tarare, down into the Rhône and Saône River valley, Lyon in the distance. Past the faubourgs leading in. There it sat, the two rivers running through it, converging at the south end, glinting in the afternoon sun, surrounded by a panorama of red tiled roofs.

They checked into the hotel just off the Pont de la Guillotière, near the Place Louis le Grand on Rue de Bourbon. The time was just past five o’clock. The city was lovely, but all were too tired to think about looking. Hot baths for everyone. A quiet meal in the room. It was no trouble putting the children down in their own room in a bed, not a cot. They did not complain to sleep in one bed, as they had in Paris.

The usually amorous Parkers simply reveled in feeling bathed and fresh and in a fine bed, but exhaustion was king. And queen.

“The streets of Saint-Tropez had better be paved in gold.”

“They will not be.”

“Wishful thinking.”

She turned over and pressed her back into him. He pulled up her gown and his hands drifted up. “I thought we were too tired.”

“Ummm, maybe not.”

“I am staying right here, where I am. I’m not moving.”

“Oh, I can do all the moving.” He ran his hand down her belly.

She started laughing, then he did. “You are incorrigible, Mr Parker.”

“And _that_ is why you love me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently came upon a trove of antique maps online, and found a detailed one of Lyon from 1872. A few years after the story takes place, but much more in tune with what it looked like in 1827. For reference, Place Louis le Grand is now Place Bellecour, and Rue de Bourbon is now Rue Victor-Hugo.


	23. What to Do About Edward

**The Twelfth of September, 1827**

_Sanditon_

From his study on the second floor of Sanditon House, Babington watched his two sons, Anthony and Marcus, play at a game of nine pins out on the lawn as their nanny assisted. Sidney’s letter from Paris arrived yesterday. Unquestionably it was only a matter of time before Edward showed up, Babington knew that long before Sidney’s letter. How much did Esther know? She told him she did not respond to Edward’s letters, yet Edward kept writing. And Edward told Sidney he knew how many children they had, and that Crowe married Clara Brereton. Where had he heard? As far as Babington knew, Edward had few friends, if any, back then when he sold Denham Place and left Sanditon for good.

It was not that Babington lacked trust in her, but he had always feared she never quite left Edward behind. Elusive was his Esther, and as he always said, he could spend a thousand years in her company and still not fathom her out. He had no wish to confront her; indeed such action could only serve to distance or anger her. He picked up the letter and read it once more. Esther appeared then in the doorway.

“Thomas, my love, Phoebe and I will walk into town. I need the air and we hope to find ribbons of a certain color at the milliner’s.”

He took a chance on impulse. “Esther, I have received the most astounding letter from Sidney, mailed from Paris last week.”

“Oh, is everything all right with them?”

“So he says. But at their hotel, they met Edward and his wife, on their honeymoon from New York.”

“Edward? How extraordinary to run into _him_.”

“Sidney thought so as well. It seems he ended up having a rather unpleasant private discourse with Edward, who divulged his marriage was one of convenience, and his intentions to return to England for _opportunity_ , as he put it. Sidney was led to believe the man is plotting some sort of revenge.”

“Are you concerned he will try to harm us?”

“He knew about our family, how many children we have. Esther..." he paused for a moment. "I will not be upset with you, but please tell me truthfully, have you answered his letters?”

An infinitesimal expression of fear appeared in her eyes, followed by steely resolve. “Now that you ask, I have, several times. I am sorry I was less than truthful. I felt you would not…understand, or forbid it.”

“I’ve never forbidden you from doing anything.” He turned away from her and observed his sons again. “What have you told him?”

“Mostly I have wanted to make him feel bad. Make him unhappy that I have a good life with you. A revenge of my own, I suppose.”

He turned back to her, studying her face intently. “Do you still have feelings for him?”

“Not in the way you are implying, no.”

“Then in what way?”

“It is not easy to put into words. I do care for his welfare. He is my brother…”

“Step-brother.”

“Regardless, I have an affection for him as a sister. I thought he should know he had nephews and a niece.”

“I do not want him anywhere near our children, Esther. Sidney said Edward made lewd suggestions about Charlotte to him, to _Sidney_. I have no doubt it took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to break Edward’s neck.”

“I am not responsible for what Edward does, Thomas.”

“Promise me you will not write to him again, and you will not meet him if he comes back, at least not without me present. Will you promise me?”

She pursed her lips and exhaled forcibly through her nose. “Very well, Lord Babington, if that is what you wish.”

“Say you promise me, Esther.”

“I _promise_ you.”

He stepped to her, taking her face in his hands. “It is for your safety, and the children’s. I do not trust him. I will not allow him to hurt us, but I cannot protect you if you hide the truth from me.”

“I understand. I will do as you ask.”

He kissed her gently, then embraced her. “I believe you.”

 _That was unfortunate_ , thought Esther as she and Phoebe left for town. Phoebe chattered away about the pianoforte piece she was learning, Esther only half listening.

She had written to Edward perhaps five times, mostly to emphasize how utterly wonderful her life was. She told him never to mention anything in his letters about her correspondence, and he never did. It was her way to keep track of him without Thomas knowing. She had to admit, there was a part of her that cared for Edward, would always care, but she would never jeopardize her marriage for him. She loved Babington. Such a thing would be the height of foolishness.

Edward had fangs, long ones, and when he sunk them in he left his venom behind. Clara knew that about him. She was the only other who really knew. It became a painful link between them, and as much as Esther disliked Clara, she found a modicum of comfort in knowing someone else understood.

“Would you Mother?”

“Oh, I’m sorry my darling, I missed what you said.”

“Would you like to listen to me play when we return?”

“Of course. I am sure your father would love to hear it as well.”

She returned to her thoughts, as Phoebe was quiet now. How unwise, and, well, _cocky_ of Edward to tempt Sidney’s ire with remarks about Charlotte. She had never mentioned to Edward that those two were married. No reason to. Her only mention of Sidney was in her last letter after Lady Denham passed, that the will was the exact same as the first with the exception of Esther inheriting Sanditon House. She wrote how Babington would be in charge now of keeping the idiot Tom Parker in line after years of Sidney being his brother’s keeper. Edward had written back, his last letter to date, that he was engaged to marry a rich banker’s daughter. Now it seemed he had.

###

_Lyon_

The day dawned sunny and warm. Their hotel was situated in the oldest section of the city, much of it built during the Renaissance on a strip of land between the two rivers. The Romans had considered it a highly strategic spot and built their own settlement, Lugdunum. Portions of their aqueduct still existed, and Amelia and Jenny had their hearts set on seeing it.

Georgiana had her heart set on silk. “How can one come to Lyon and not buy _silk?_ So the day was decided. The Parkers all would ride a couple of Hansom cabs and journey up to the aqueducts. The Moyneuxs would head to La Croix-Rousse for the silk factories.

The day passed with everyone admiring and touching the tangibles of Lyon, be they exquisite yards of silk fabric or ancient Roman stone work. Jenny sketched until she thought her fingers might fall off.

Ahead of them now was Provence in not three, but four days, first Valence, then Avignon, then Marseille, and finally to Saint Tropez, where Arthur, Francis and Diana awaited them.

_London_

The afternoon post brought a letter from Sidney. Crowe opened it with pleasure. Hope they were enjoying the tour they’d undertaken. He finished reading and began to slap the paper against his other hand. “Clara?” He set off to find her.

She was just leaving the nursery after settling down little Robert for a rest. She shushed Crowe to be quiet. He took her arm and led her to the drawing room. “A letter from Sidney came today, from Paris. He met Edward Denham there.”

“What?”

“Yes, on his honeymoon with his rich American wife. I’ll spare you the details for now, but it appears old Sir Edward is coming back, with money and plans.”

“For what?”

“Revenge, or so Parker surmises.”

“So he has money, so what? He can do nothing to us. What shall he do, tell you of my past?” She shook her head. “He’s impotent, weak, he cannot harm us.”

“I hope you are right.”

“Think of it, Francis. What could he do? You know all of my past. I have kept nothing from you. What can he say to you that you do not already know? How could he ruin us? Frankly, I would be far more concerned if I were Lady Babington. She has the real history with that snake.”

“Yes, perhaps I should write Babington. I’m sure Sidney did.”

“But how are they? In France? Does he say?”

“Only briefly. They are well. It was a quick note to inform me. They are on the road as we speak.”

“I would not give Edward Denham another thought. Let him try to take revenge. He is nothing but a snake in the grass. We are eagles. We soar above. The last time I saw him was just before you found me waiting for the coach to London. He was drunk, rambling on about his title, which I have no doubt his rich little American married him for. I had no possessions other than what was in my bag, but at least I had faith in myself. His opinion of himself is based on what he takes from others.”

“But Clara, you tried to take from Lady Denham, did you not?”

“Francis, I have told you. I was desperate. Those two were on a campaign to ruin me in her eyes and leave me destitute. They tried everything from trying to seduce me to telling Lady Denham I had worn out my welcome. You know, I could have told our aunt that I saw those two making love in Denham Place that day, but I did not. I kept it to myself.”

“I’m sorry, love. It’s all in the past. We will carry on as before. You are correct, there is nothing he can do to us.” He kissed her. “Have I ever told you how sensual you are when you’re angry?”


	24. Welcome to Provence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you for your lovely comments and for keeping with me through this long journey.

**The Thirteenth** through **the Fifteenth of September, 1827**

_On the Road to Marseille_

Late morning after leaving Lyon, they rested the horses at the ancient town of Vienne with its Roman Temple of Augustus and Livia, 1st century amphitheatre, and medieval castle high on a hill overlooking the river, grape vines ascending all the way up. And always someone would say, “Oh, we must stop here on our way back,” as all they could do then was give a passing glance and board the coaches again.

But it crept up on them. The nearly imperceptible change. Still they followed the Rhône, but slowly, or not so slowly, the landscape appeared different; the river following a wide valley between the mountainous regions of the Massif Central and the Alps. The green and golden pastures, forests and rolling hills turned into rugged white limestone and chalk terrain with evergreen oaks, scrub, thistle and broom. The colors were vivid, the air crisp and dry and warm. No longer was there the scent of moist soil and green forest, instead the air was perfumed with wild lavender, thyme and rosemary. The light seemed reflected tenfold, dazzling, bright. Now with the gnarled grape vines on trellises, olive trees appeared. Towns built of stone curled into cliffs.

At Roussillon, the early afternoon sun lit up the ochre hills, the red and orange buildings of the town winding up the cliff. Jenny longed to draw in color from that moment forward. In late evening they made the stop for the night in Valence. The cold plate sent to their rooms was of a distinctively different composition, with soft, tangy chèvre drizzled with honey and olive oil, flatbread with pungent herbs, fresh figs, almonds, cured black olives.

###

The next morning, Georgiana and Sidney agreed their thoughts wandered to Antigua, something about the blue, blue sky and shimmering light, and yet the two places could not be less alike. Antigua’s clime was sweltering, moisture fairly hanging in the air, but this locale was arid, the heat intense but not oppressively so, with relief found in the shade. 

At a noon day stop to rest the horses in Montélimar, with its medieval stone fortress watching from high on a hill, they bought blocks of nougat, a confection made with almonds, honey and egg whites, sweet and crunchy, quickly devoured by the children. A rest stop again in the afternoon at the town of Orange, filled with ancient Roman ruins, an amphitheatre, a massive stone triumphal arch. All along the Rhône the ancient Romans were in evidence.

Early evening they arrived at the stop for the night, Avignon, the onetime seat of the Roman Catholic popes and under papal rule until the Revolution. Overlooking the Rhône, the immense 14th century Palais des Papes, the Gothic pope’s palace with four towers, commanded all. At the table-d'hote, the patron and patroness of the inn served a dish of veal with green olives, sage and rice; haricots verte and chopped tomatoes tossed with garlic, olive oil and herbs; and a vin de table rosé. A tarte of pears and ground almonds for dessert left everyone swimming in a new sea of gastronomic pleasure. This was not England; that they were sure of.

As were most buildings in this part of the country, the inn was made with thick stone walls and smaller windows with shutters to keep out the heat of the day. Sidney and Charlotte’s room had a small chamber adjoining where the children’s beds were set. Tired and satiated from the meal, they lay on top of the covers, savoring the cool breeze from the open windows. “You know,” she said, “we’ve known each other as long as you were in Antigua, yet you almost never speak of that time. It always surprises me when you do, as today.”

“So much of it was ugly and brutal; I have never felt compelled to share it. I try to forget it myself.”

“But what was it like when you first arrived? How did you feel? You’ve never told me.”

He lay quiet for a time, looking up at the dark ceiling.

“I was barely more than a boy, never been much past London and Sanditon. I spent six grueling weeks on a ship crossing the Atlantic, then stepped into a place that was so foreign it might have been another world. It _was_ another world, exotically beautiful and hideously unpleasant. Horribly hot and stifling, jungles, insects and birds of all kinds, seas the color of turquoise, clear and shimmering.”

“Were you afraid?”

“I was terrified. Utterly and completely terrified. I immediately went to work for George Lambe on his sugar cane plantation. I took over his shipping enterprise, exporting the sugar, importing supplies. I've told you that. He paid me handsomely, and at first I invested it in the crop, in sugar futures. But it was wholly inhuman, the plantation, the way the slaves were treated, the backbreaking work of planting and cutting the cane in that wretched heat, the boiling houses and mills death traps for them. They were beaten for the least infraction.”

“You had no direct contact with the slaves, though?”

“No, not really, but I saw and heard. They also worked in the house. Georgiana’s mother was one who did before George fell in love with her.” He paused, stretching his arms over his head. “And hearing their music at night and the drumming. I’ll never forget that sound. But it all seemed a house of cards, never to last. I felt we had no business being there, not only bringing the enslaved Africans but destroying the native people as well. The white Creoles, British born in the Caribbean, they were not like people in England; their society was so different, so intermingled with slavery and African culture. There were many families who would have liked to marry a daughter off to a man like me, from Britain, but I had no interest in any of them.”

“You said before you had no affection towards any woman there.”

“I had no wish to repeat the mistakes I made before I left. Young British men were warned of persistent diseases at brothels. I never partook there. Some of the men took liberties with the slave women, raped them in truth, usually George looked the other way. They were his property after all, but he seemed to want to keep the men content. I would have none of it. I think in part it was George’s reason for trusting Georgiana to me.”

“As her guardian.”

“Yes.”

“But she always spoke so lovingly of Antigua. Even now.”

“She never saw the mills and the boiling houses, or the workers in the fields up close. George kept her isolated in a world of pretty dresses and dollies and everything her heart desired. I think that was the reason her mother’s and then her father’s death struck her so hard. She knew nothing of the cruelty of the world. Of course she knew her mother had been a slave, but I do not know if she fully understood what that meant. She herself owned a slave, Crockett. You were there when I went through her holdings with her; when she wanted me to teach her how her fortune was managed. It was all acquired on the backs of slaves. You saw how horrified she was to learn the truth. While I was guardian, I invested the profit in other ventures, but the corpus was all from her father’s sugar plantation.”

“But at least she and Otis are putting it to good use.”

He nodded in the dark and hummed an affirmative. She nestled into him, her head resting against his neck, her arm cradling his head. He reached up and wrapped his hand around her upper arm.

“In the beginning, I thought I was there waiting for Eliza. If I stayed long enough and earned my fortune, maybe when I returned Campion would be gone. But after the years passed, I decided I waited for no one.” He turned underneath her onto his side and ran his finger down her profile, from her forehead, between her eyebrows, across her nose, down to her lips, where she kissed his finger, then to her chin, ending at her dimple. “And then we met. And I found all along, it was _you_ I waited for.”

“I was twelve when you left England. Going on one and twenty when you returned.”

“See? Our timing was perfect.”

###

The next day’s ride turned east from the Rhône, and followed the Durance River now, past Orgon, past Aix, turning south towards Marseille, reaching it mid-evening. Otis knew the place from his time in the Royal Navy, but they were there only to eat and sleep, then continue on to the final destination. Tomorrow would bring a ride on primitive road that followed the coast, but in the end, it would take them to the three they loved.


	25. Arrival -- The End of Part 2

**The Sixteenth of September, 1827**

_On the Road and Saint-Tropez_

Despite it being Sunday, they would travel today, leaving early in the morning. Though there were no travel bans on the Sabbath as there were in England, the French took their day of rest most seriously. Sunday mass, a large lunch and visiting were in order. Few businesses opened. Monsieur Talbot procured, from somewhere, baskets of fruit, bread and chocolate for the coaches, as they would most likely not stop for a meal. The road between Marseille and Toulon was wide and in good repair, packed dirt, some paving. After Toulon, it was nothing more than two narrow wheel ruts used most often by wagons and carts, those on foot, and herds of sheep. With the lack of Sunday traffic, they hoped to make good time on it, regardless of condition.

From Marseille, the main road headed straight east, inland to Aubagne. The terrain was of craggy limestone ridges, conifers, scrub, dry grasslands, and occasional farmland with grapes and olives. They were far from the sea until turning south at Cuges, then down to Ollioues, and into Toulon, its large bay sparkling deep blue in the mid-day sun. Heading out, buildings were few and far between on the old road leading inland to Hyères, then Bormes, where a glimpse of the sea would come into view now and then.

Inland again, across the peninsula up towards the Gulf of Grimaud, traveling between two highland ranges, grapes growing up the hillsides at times. Tiny villages with goats and cottage gardens appeared and disappeared in the dust of the horses and carriages. Heading northeast, coming at last to the blue water of the gulf, the Citadel of Saint-Tropez on the hill, the stone windmills nearby for the farmers to grind their wheat. Up the narrow winding streets to a sandy road. A right turn up the hill, a narrow drive, and there. There it was. A compound nestled into a hillside thick with pines, cypress, scrub and olive trees. There were two stone and stucco buildings constructed in the previous century, colored the yellow and ochre of the region, windows with bright blue shutters, earth brown tiled roofs, and an expansive view of the blue, blue sea. Behind the two sat a sizable carriage house and stable.

Near sundown now, the light golden, the Parker coach pulled in first, the driver calling, “Whoa!” and the horses whinnying. Arthur immediately stepped out from the front door of the larger house, the one colored a velvety yellow. He wore no waistcoat or cravat. His sleeves rolled up, black braces holding up loose linen breeches. His hair was longer, down about his shoulders, curly and free. He seemed ruddy and rotund as ever, but more solid somehow. “Uncle Arthur!” Jay cried. “Papa, may I, may I?”

“Wait until the carriage stops, please.”

Jay opened the door and fairly flew from the coach, across the drive, launching himself into Arthur’s arms. “Uncle Arthur!”

Arthur lifted the boy up and hugged him tight, then kissed both his cheeks. “You cannot be John Joseph Arthur Parker. You are much too big!”

“Tis me; I am a big boy now!”

Sidney emerged from the carriage and lifted out Amelia. Arthur set Jay down and he rushed back to the carriage, grabbed Amelia’s hand and brought her to Arthur.

“Oh, little Amelia,” Arthur said. “You are a beauty just like your mother.” He opened his arms and she went to him, wrapping hers about his neck when he lifted her up. “Do you remember me?” he asked.

“I do. You gave me my music box for Christmas. I think of you when I play it. You are always jolly. That’s what I remember.”

“We will know each other much better now, my sweet girl.”

Sidney lifted Adam out from the coach, then gave his hand to Charlotte. “Adam might not know you, though,” Amelia said. “He is quite little still.”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “He was just a toddler when I saw him last.”

The three of them came to him now, Adam in Sidney’s arms. Arthur and Charlotte embraced, rocking and swaying. “Dear, dear Charlotte. How happy I am to see you.”

“My dear brother. How we have missed you.” She kissed him soundly and they turned to Sidney.

“My goodness, Sidney, he is you in miniature,” Arthur said, and enveloped them both in his embrace. “I am so happy you are here.” He pulled back and looked into his brother’s eyes that welled with tears, through tears in his own.

Sidney wound his free arm around Arthur’s shoulder and pressed his cheek to his brother’s. “Arthur, we are happy to be here. Now, Adam, do you know who this is?”

“Uncle Arthur.”

A laugh rose from deep within Arthur’s belly. “Jolly good, you. Well coached! Yes, Uncle Arthur.” He took Adam from Sidney and kissed his cheek. Adam smiled and patted his uncle’s face.

“Not coached,” said Charlotte. “He knows who you are. He’s been hearing about you for months.”

Arthur held Adam up in the air eliciting squeals of delight. “Well, after this stay he will never forget his Uncle Arthur.” Adam back on his feet again, Arthur’s attention turned to the other carriage occupants walking up the drive. He walked down to greet them as Sidney and Charlotte looked towards the house where Francis stepped out with Diana on his arm.

Like Arthur he was without waistcoat and cravat, looking much the same with his soft blond hair and bright blue eyes. He smiled ear to ear. Diana was radiant. Her hair was long down her back, tied up simply at the sides. She wore a white muslin dress with a red silk shawl. And even in the fading light, she appeared to be about two months ahead of Charlotte. Diana was with child.

Jay met them first with embraces and kisses and do you remember Uncle Francis and Aunt Diana to Amelia, who insisted, yes she did, and gave examples of what she remembered. Francis and Diana laughed and kissed and embraced back. Then Adam ran up and insisted he be included in the festivities.

Sidney and Charlotte reached them then. A look of understanding passed between the two women. They held each other, kissing cheeks and wiping away tears. “Yes,” said Diana. “Can you believe it? I am nearly forty!”

“And all is well?”

“Yes, but I find myself full of fears at times, for my health, the baby’s. I am so glad to have you and Mary and Georgiana here. I need my sisters.”

“And finally we are! But Diana… is it…”

She smiled in a quiet way. “Étienne is the father. But let us not speak of this now.” With that she turned to Sidney, Charlotte to Francis, as Arthur, Mary, Jenny, Georgiana, Otis and Georgie all came up the drive.

After lengthy greetings by all, the women took the children inside while the men supervised the luggage and the coaches. They would continue to rent for the duration of their stay the carriage the servants traveled in. Otis agreed with Francis’s suggestion that his family occupy the guest house, as it was too big for Mary and Jenny and too small for Sidney and Charlotte. Luggage was unloaded, coaches and drivers sent to the carriage house to have a meal and a place to sleep. Monsieur Talbot decided to take a room at an inn. When all was settled, they went inside the house to join the others.

The four little ones went with Diana directly to the pump outside to wash faces and hands, the water refreshingly cool. Afterwards she seated them at the big kitchen table for a meal of ratatouille, a vegetable stew with aubergines, tomatoes, peppers, courgettes, onions and garlic; with a few slices of roasted poulet, plenty of crusty bread alongside, and glasses of lemon water. The old cook, Madame Gravier, laughed as their eyes widened and they used their bread to scoop up sweet and tangy bites.

“C’est très bien!” Amelia told her, which made her laugh even more.

“Merci, mademoiselle! Bon appétit.”

Luggage was taken to respective rooms, servants shown their quarters where they could retire when finished with their tasks. They would eat in the kitchen after the children. The travelers went to their chambers to wash away the road dust and change clothes. The children finished their meals and did not complain to be whisked off to bed, Georgie sharing Adam's until the time Georgiana and Otis would retire for the night to the cottage.

And at last, the nine of them sat down in the dining room at the old, massive white oak plank table with carved trestles and comfortable high backed chairs. They had so much to say it was difficult to decide where to start. The trip itself became a fine launching point. As the hour was late, the meal was as the children’s had been, poulet from a nearby farm roasted with garlic, rosemary and lemon, mountains of ratatouille, baskets of bread. There were bottles of delightful crisp rosé and light red. “Étienne’s,” said Diana. “You will meet him tomorrow. He’ll come by in the afternoon.”

“You will like him,” Francis said. “Wonderful man. He has the loveliest vineyard, very old, in his family since the 1690s. Beautiful Château.”

“The harvest and press will be very soon. We’ll all go. We had the jolliest time ever last year,” said Arthur as he finished the last of his dessert of apricot clafoutis. “And they are now hunting the sangliers, the wild boar. They eat the ripe grapes, so les chasseurs are after them. Madame Gravier is the best cook in the entire area. We are so blessed to have her. Wait until you taste her wild boar stew.” He lifted his eyes to heaven and shook his head.

They talked and ate and drank into the night. Jenny had already left the table and headed to her room. Exhausted, the rest followed her lead after not too long. Otis carried a sleeping Georgie as he and Georgiana headed for the cottage. Charlotte checked on the children, then joined Sidney. Their second floor room was spacious and comfortable, indeed the whole manor was, built during the time of Louis XV, around 1750, Francis thought. White oak was used throughout, the ceiling beams, woodwork, upstairs floors, even the furniture.

It was cool outside now, so Sidney opened the shutters and windows to let in the air. Haskell and Roland had long been given leave, so Sidney undid Charlotte’s buttons and plaited her hair. It was the first time they had been completely alone since early morning.

“So now we know why they did not wish to return,” he said.

“Yes, but I do think they are really, truly happy here.”

“Seems that way doesn’t it?”

They folded back the covers on the bed they would sleep in for four months or longer, crawling in from opposite directions and meeting in the middle. They both lay on their sides, his arms about her waist, hers his neck.

“She told me Étienne is the father.”

“I expected as much. Did she say anything else?”

“No, she wishes to talk of it later.”

“We couldn’t possibly talk about everything tonight. We have a stack of letters as well. Did you see?”

“Yes, but I was too tired to even look at them.”

“Well, my love, the journey is over, but the adventure has just begun.”

They kissed drowsily for a time, silently savoring the scent and taste of each other, the familiarity. The last few cicadas of the season still sang outside. He turned his head and blew out the candle.


	26. Part 3 -- First Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies if anyone finds the subject matter offensive.

**The Seventeenth of September, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

He was not sure what had awoken him, but Jay Parker opened his eyes to a whole new world. Dawn crept up outside the windows and the air carried the scent of salt and sea, and other aromas he knew not. Exotic flowers and citrus, but also something pungent yet sweet. Later he would come to know that particular aroma came from the warmed resin of pine trees. He wondered if anyone else was awake in the house. The servants had not yet brought the pitchers of fresh water for washing.

Somewhere in his fuzzy memory of last night there was the sound of his father’s deep voice with Otis’s as he took Georgie from the room. Someone opened the shutters and windows, most likely Papa, and he felt his mother’s hand brush his hair back, her soft kiss on his forehead. He would recognize her anywhere, anytime, simply from her touch and the delicate perfume of flowers one could only notice when she was close.

He decided to get up and explore a bit. It was safe, after all, this was his family’s home, not an inn or hotel. He took off his nightshirt and put his muslin shirt from yesterday back on, pulled up his breeches and tucked it in. If he stood on his toes he could see himself in the mirror over the dresser. He ran his fingers through his hair and figured he was presentable should he encounter someone. He peeked behind the partition that separated Amelia’s side from his and Adam’s. She was still asleep. So was his little brother. Jay slipped out the door and closed it quietly.

All the doors in the hall were closed. He heard no one stirring. He went down the stairs, an arch shaped window open high above the landing. He wondered how they opened and closed it. The stairs and lower level floors were covered with big ochre colored clay tiles that felt cool and smooth against his bare feet. Now he heard sounds coming from the back of the house and the kitchen.

When he walked into the great warm room, Madame Gravier was standing over the stove, tending the fires. On a side table the clean pitchers and basins were all lined up ready for the maids to take to the rooms. A kettle of water heated on the stove. They must be waiting to put hot water in the pitchers, he thought. A kitchen maid washed dishes in the sinks at the back of the room. Madame Gravier noticed him standing at the doorway.

“Ah, bonjour!” she said. “Avez-vous faim?” She pointed to her stomach.

“Bonjour,” Jay replied. “Oui, hungry.”

“Se laver les mains et le visage,” she said handing him a small towel and pointing with her head towards the outside door to the pump. He nodded and did as she told him.

When he returned she was coming up from the cellar with a covered crock in her hands. She seemed very old to him, her face deeply wrinkled, gray hair poking out from beneath her frilly white cap. She wore a simple dress made from brightly colored fabrics, the skirt quilted. He felt the damp cool air for a moment before she closed the cellar door. Then his attention turned to the aroma coming from several small green and white striped melons on the big work table. She picked one up and held it to him so he could smell. Then she pointed to the table. “Asseyez-vous.”

“I will sit,” he said, thinking he could teach her some English. He watched as she cut one of the melons across the equator, its juice spilling out onto the board, the inside bright orange. She scooped out the seeds and put the melon half on a plate, setting it in front of him with a spoon. He’d never eaten melon that way, in fact he’d not eaten much melon at all, but he dipped the spoon in and dug out a big bite, after all, if it tasted as good as it smelled... It was sweet, _so_ sweet, but strong, too, like how flowers or nectar might taste. He began to mine with abandon the smooth orange fruit with the spoon, picking the whole thing up to drink the juice at times. From the corner of her eye, she watched him with amusement.

The water boiled and the maid came and poured it into the pitchers so it mixed with the cooler water in them, then took the kettle out to the pump to fill again and set it back on the stove once more. She and the kitchen maid began to take the pitchers and basins to the rooms. He had never seen this process before. Mrs Bunting, the cook at home, never let him spend much time in the kitchen, usually giving him a biscuit and shooing him out.

Madame Gravier took large brown eggs from a wicker basket on the work table and cracked three into a little bowl. She took out a loaf of brioche and cut it in fat slices. Then she took two heavy blackened pans and put them on the stove to heat, then returned to the eggs and beat them with a fork, putting in a little salt. She buttered two brioche slices and set them into one pan, spooned more butter into the other and swirled it around. Jay watched, enthralled, as she worked in silence. She poured the eggs into the pan, stirring a little, then watching and prodding, turned over the slices of brioche, opened the crock she’d brought from the cellar and dropped dollops of last night’s vegetable stew into the center of the eggs, sprinkling chèvre over the top. Then she moved the pan with the brioche to the stove shelf above, took a long spatula and folded over one side of the eggs, then slid the whole thing out onto a plate so the other edge folded underneath. She topped it with chopped herbs and put the brioche toast alongside.

Whisking the melon plate away, she set the eggs in front of him. “Voilà.” She pointed to the tall crock in the center of the table with forks and knives. He looked at the plate and then up to her, amazement in his eyes. “Merci, Madame.” She turned away to continue with her work, but first poured him a glass of today’s fresh milk that had just come in from the farmer and set it next to his plate. The rest she poured into a pot to heat for café au lait. Jay was not a stranger to fresh milk and eggs and butter. His mother grew up on a farm. They had the same in Sanditon. But somehow, this was different, and he did not know why.

He ate and watched the goings on, not even noticing Arthur come in. Madame Gravier did, however. “Ah, Monsieur Arthur, bonjour!”

“Bonjour, bonjour! Well, I should have known I would find my namesake in the kitchen before I arrived. Is Madame taking good care of you, my boy?”

He could only nod, then croak out, “Brioche _toast_.”

“ _Oh_ , it does that to me as well. She makes the best brioche.”

“She makes it?”

“She does. We have a very good boulangerie in town, but Madame’s is still better.”

She shot him a side look and smiled, toasting more slices.

“Our cook at home never lets us in the kitchen,” Jay said.

“Well, Madame G will as long as you eat everything she gives you and stay out from underfoot. You can also help.”

“Help?”

“As I will do right now.” He rose and took the coffee mill down from the shelf and she handed him the sack of roasted beans. “We put the beans here on the top, then crank like this, and it comes out in the little drawer down here, see?”

Madame prepared the drip pot for making the coffee and waved Arthur off.

“Ah,” he said, “I was underfoot.”

“Oui,” she replied.

“Another thing you should know about her, Jay my boy, she understand far more English than she pretends.”

At that, she laughed loudly, her eyes crinkling and all but disappearing above her rosy cheeks. “Non, non. Je ne comprends pas l'Anglais.” And with that, she set a plate of toast in front of Arthur.

###

Upstairs and out in the cottage, all was in motion. Everyone was dressing. Trunks that had previously arrived needed to be sorted out and put in the correct rooms. Lady’s maids and valets sorted through clothing and took the muslins for washing. Nanny Grey did the same with the children’s clothing, but first let his parents know Master Jay was nowhere to be found.

“I’m breakfasting with Diana this morning. Haskell is bringing me up a tray, so I won’t be down,” Charlotte said. “Will you look for him?”

Sidney was dressing, no cravat or waistcoat and very happy about it. “I’ll find him,” he said, “I am sure he’s exploring.” He pulled her to him so quickly she fairly yelped. “Do you know how ravishing you are?” he said, kissing his way down her neck.

“What brought this on?” she asked with a laugh.

“What always brings it on.” He ran his hands down her back and squeezed both her cheeks.

“Mr Parker, we have other things to do this morning,” she said as he nuzzled into her breasts.

“Yes, yes, I know. But before the end of the day you will be mine.”

“I am always yours.”

“Lucky me. I will be planning our siesta.”

“That is in Spain.”

“Close enough.”

“Go find our son.”

“What a cruel mistress you are, Mrs Parker.”

“And you love me for it.”

“True.”

She knocked on Diana’s door. “It’s Charlotte.”

“Come in, come in.”

Diana sat propped up on pillows in her bed, her tray in front of her. “Charlotte. Come sit with me.”

She sat on the bed and took Diana’s hand. “You look wonderful.”

“I feel wonderful. I never, ever expected to have a child. Not at my age, but here I am.”

“What is the expected date?”

“End of October. I’m sorry we did not tell you. We thought it would be better to wait until you were here.”

“Should I bring Mary?”

“Of course, but not Jenny. She’s too young to understand, and especially not with all that happened.”

“Mary told you?”

“She did. She wrote. Yes, see if Mary can come.”

Haskell was outside holding the breakfast tray, just ready to knock as Charlotte opened the door. “Thank you. Set it over there.”

She went to Mary’s room and knocked.

“Come in.”

Mary, too, was in bed with her tray. “Can you come to Diana’s room?”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Charlotte carried Mary’s tray. Once inside Diana’s room, Mary settled onto the bed next to Diana. Charlotte sat at the end.

“Mary, darling, we’re just discussing, yes, the baby. We thought you should be here.”

“Yes, of course. I want to be here.”

“All right. Here goes.” She fluffed a bit with her covers before beginning. “When Francis and I married, he was adamant that I should always feel free to have love affairs if I wished, within reason of course. And we agreed if it so happened I had a child from such a union, Francis would fully accept the child as his own. Of course, I had no intention of having a love affair, or falling in love, no less having a child.” She was breathless now.

“Diana, we do not judge you. Please know that,” said Charlotte.

She regained her composure and continued. “We met Étienne well over a year ago. Francis and Arthur were on the hunt for good local wine. It was not love at first sight. He’s a widower, you know, his wife died some ten years ago. He has two children, a son and daughter, twenty and eighteen. Never wanted to remarry. After a month or so, well, the attraction was quite intense. I explained to him my situation. I told him everything. It is not ideal, you know, but it is what we have. I never would have met him if I had not married Francis. But here I am, with his child, and Francis is elated. Whether a boy or a girl, the child will have Francis’s name, and if it is a boy, he will inherit the baronetcy.”

“And Étienne is fine with that?” asked Mary.

“Yes, he is. As I said, it isn’t ideal. In the best of all worlds we would be married and the child would have Étienne’s name. Certainly he has no wish for his child to be a bastard. I know it seems horrid and strange, but here, in France…it really isn’t. The thing is this child will always know love and be loved.”

“You will tell the child who the father is?” asked Charlotte.

“I will. We will. When the time comes. But we need to be careful of who knows." She sighed and looked at Mary. "Tom is my brother, but I do not think he should know. He never seemed to understand what was between Arthur and Francis to begin with. I hope you are not offended.”

“Oh, no. I agree. Jenny should not know either.”

“Good. Let us keep this between ourselves. You will meet him today. You will see what a noble man he is.”


	27. Second Half of Day One

Still **the Seventeenth of September, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

After Charlotte, Mary and Diana had finished their breakfast discussion and assuaged Diana’s fears of scorn from the family and childbirth itself, Charlotte left to find Sidney. She checked the small room they chose for the children’s schooling and was pleased to see Nanny Grey with all three engaged, Amelia and Jay with their slates, Adam with picture books.

Out on the stone terrace overlooking the sea, Sidney read letters while lounging in a rattan chair, his feet up on a matching ottoman. She approached from behind, wrapping her arms about his shoulders and kissing him on his temple. “I see you found our wayward boy. Where was he?”

He leaned his head into hers. “In the kitchen with Arthur. He’d gotten up early and the cook made him a special breakfast. It was all he could talk about. How is Diana?”

“Concerned we will judge her and view her situation with contempt, but I assured her that was not the case. She said the child will be raised as Francis’s and have his name, but we are to keep it among ourselves. She does not want Tom to know. And not Jenny, so we need to take care when we speak around her.” She began to read the letter he held. “From Babington? About Edward?”

“Yes, from Babington, but my letter had not reached him when he sent this one, which is about Tom. It seems he has some grand plan to build a _beer hall_. He was quite upset when Babington said no. He has no idea what it would entail to run such a business, he wants only to build it. Lady Denham’s will did not specifically endow Tom Parker. The money is for the development of _Sanditon_. Tom seems to think it was left to him alone, much to Babington’s annoyance. And even more, there’s a letter from Evans. Arrived yesterday.”

“Our Mr Evans?”

He nodded. “Tom came by the house and asked to be let inside. Spent some time wandering about, then had tea on the terrace. Evans was concerned we had sent Tom to inspect and wanted to reassure us he was caring for the property as we asked.”

“Why would Tom do such a thing? He never comes to visit us. Mary comes two or three times a week during the summer. Tom never accompanies her. Why would he show up when we are gone?”

“Boredom, I suppose. He asked Evans about the addition, who the architect was. Perhaps he’s contemplating an addition on Trafalgar House. I suppose I should tell Mary, but there is not much she can do.”

“Trafalgar House is far too large as it is. He is mad.”

“We know that.” He turned his face to hers and said in a low voice, “You _owe_ me for finding Jay.”

She brushed her lips against his. “Do I? What is the fee?”

“I will give you my bill when we take our siesta.”

“You know Étienne is coming this afternoon.”

“Not until later.” He gave her his knowing little smile.

She slid her fingers underneath the collar of his shirt and ran them across his collarbone. “I do like this fashion of no cravat.”

“Hmmm, as do I.”

She stood and stretched her back, then seated herself in the chair next to him. He moved the ottoman over so she could put her feet up with his.

“You have three letters yourself. Alison, your mother, and Susan.” He handed them over to her.

She broke the seal on Alison’s and inside was a note for Jenny from Alicia. She set it aside and read Alison’s letter, which was mostly routine. The boys and Charles were thick as thieves. The king himself bought two of Charles’s Turkoman horses, a stallion and a mare. Alicia had settled in and did not appear to be developing the same inclinations as Jenny. Little Jane was nearly four months old and doing well, as were the other two girls who loved having Alicia around.

“Everyone surviving?” Sidney asked.

“Yes, quite well. King George bought two of Charles’s Turkomans.”

“That’s a fine feather in his cap.”

“Truly.”

She had read Susan’s and was almost finished with her mother’s when Arthur and Francis joined them. “Ah, we see you’ve discovered the best spot in the house,” said Francis.

“Idyllic,” said Sidney looking out over the deep blue sea with pockets of bright turquoise. “We can see why you love it.”

“Even in the winter there are many days one can sit out here,” said Arthur.

“So this is your second winter coming up here, in this house?”

“It is, let’s see, we moved here just about a year ago, early November it was. The other manor was quite nice, from the same era, you know, before the Revolution, naval officers from the Citadel and noblemen built during the Louis XV reign. But it was so far from everything, on the eastern side, one had to take a carriage to get into town. This is quite more convenient, supposedly belonged to some viscount, seized in 1790 or so. Strange after all that, how they went back to an emperor and now a king again.

“But we love it here,” said Arthur. “We don’t really wish to go back.”

“Susan was lamenting in her letter how much she misses you,” Charlotte said.

“Francis sighed. “We have tried and tried to convince her to visit. She simply detests traveling such long distances. I wanted to sell the London townhouse, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Truth is, I’m not sure when we’ll be in London long term again, so I continue to lease it out. She does not like that either I am afraid.”

“You do not miss society there, in London, the events and all?” asked Charlotte.

“Well of course we miss family and friends, but not the ton. We enjoy our own society here, the solitude, the climate. We have a small circle of friends in the area, you’ll meet them eventually.” He looked out over the water, still the same Francis with his hefty blonde muttonchops and long elegant nose, the kindly blue eyes, just a little older now with a few more lines in his face, accentuated by his tanned skin. What was different about him was his countenance, his relaxed and easy manner, as if keeping his great secret all those years took a toll on him back then. He was free to be himself now. “I hear Diana has spoken to you about our child.”

“Yes, and you have no need to feel any concern with us,” Charlotte assured him. “I wonder about Georgiana, though, and Otis. Has anyone seen them today?”

“Otis came to breakfast,” Sidney said. “You know Georgiana.”

“There’s also a terrace facing the sea at the guest house. I’d venture that is where they are,” said Arthur.

“But do you wish Georgiana and Otis to know?”

Francis thought for a moment. “I will leave that decision to Diana. For now, just keep it among us.”

“Of course,” Sidney replied.

“Now, we were going for a walk along the beach before it gets too hot. Should we gather everyone together and make it a jolly promenade?” asked Arthur.

“Judging from the sun it is nearly eleven,” Francis said. “If we are to go before the heat, we’d better make it soon. September is nothing like July and August, but it still can be quite warm.”

Arthur trotted off to the cottage to see about the Molyneuxs. The Parkers went to gather children. It seemed Mary and Jenny were already out walking. Diana declined.

The path to the beach was simple and direct. Back down the drive, across the little sandy road, down a path that was a bit steep with limestone crags and scrub, opening out to a white sand beach inside a curved inlet formed by two rocky outcrops. The four children took off their shoes and ran to the clear shallow water to play in the waves lapping against the sand. Jay raced down the length of the beach and began to climb the rocky promontories.

“Jay!” Sidney called after him. “No.”

“It's all right, Papa, I will not fall.”

“Jay! Come back right now!” Charlotte this time.

He stopped, then climbed back down to the sand and stood with his arms crossed over his chest, pouting. “It’s _not_ high, and there is another beach on the other side.”

Sidney had reached him now. “That does not matter. You do not race off in such a manner in a place you know nothing about. You know better.”

Jay kicked some sand, pouting even more. Sidney dropped down to his knees and sat back on his haunches. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, there is something. What is it?”

“I just wanted to run. Or swim. Or do anything.”

“Yes, yes, I know we’ve been sitting in carriages for days and days. You can run on the beach all you want. But no climbing on rocks or swimming unless you ask, or you are with someone older. It isn’t safe. Remember pirates, when we were at the talking spot? Catch yourself before you start. You have been so good about it for months now.”

“I’m sorry.” He drew circles in the sand with his foot.

“Come here.” He opened his arms and folded Jay in. “We are not angry; we do not want you to be injured, that is all. You understand?” Jay nodded. “So next time what will you do?”

“Ask first.”

“All right. So ask me.”

“May I climb on the rocks?”

“We’ll go together.” He turned Jay to face Charlotte, who was walking towards them. “Here is your mother. Tell her so she does not worry.”

“I’m sorry, Mama, if I made you worried. Papa and I will climb together”

“If your father is with you, then fine.”

Sidney stood and brushed the sand from his trousers. He looked at her over Jay’s head and shook his own. “All right, let us see the beach on the other side.”

###

When she was with Jay, he was unnerved by her every gasp that he was hurting her, or the baby, and she had her own concerns. Now with the fourth, they simply adjusted to her growing belly. At this point, she could not tolerate much time on her back, and certainly not any of his weight, nor did he enjoy holding himself away from her. She often took the pillows and propped them up behind him, as she did now, pushing him back and straddling him as if she were a fierce warrior queen, pressing against his chest or the wall behind, her long curls tossing wild about her face and shoulders, in control of him. And he relished her that way, to watch her, to run his hands over her, to cup her bottom and lift her so he could thrust at his tempo and then release her to her own speed again.

Into his mind at that moment, came his words to her on the balcony the night of the fire. _I never wanted to put myself in anyone’s power before._ He was completely in her power, everything in his life revolved around her and their family. Every breath he took. Every thought he had. Every deed he performed. All of it was for her, for them. _Ever us_. The thought left him as quickly as it arrived, washed away by the immediacy of the moment.

When they finished, breathing heavily into each other, his fingers tracing up and down her spine, hers entwined in his hair, she whispered into his ear, “I must ask you my love. Is my bill paid in full?”

###

Étienne laughed, a deep rolling sound. Late afternoon in the sitting room where they all gathered. An impressive man with the tanned face of one who works outdoors, yet he was, without any doubt, a gentleman. His gray eyes were thoughtful and sharp. This was a man who missed nothing. Clearly he doted on Diana, yet he was discreet, cautious of the situation. His English was exemplary, having been sent as a small child to New Orleans during the Revolution where he had a nanny from the newly minted United States. From her, he learned the language.

They laughed and talked and ate and drank well into the night.


	28. Anniversaries and Other Things

**The Twentieth of September, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

“Charlotte told me you received a note from Alicia. What did she say?” Mary inquired of Jenny, who bent over Amelia’s diary, sketching the latest entry.

“She sent a letter to you, too, did she not?”

“Yes, but I’m asking what she wrote to you. I know what she said to me.”

Jenny sighed and laid her pencil on the table. “She says she is having a wonderful time and loves being with Alison. The boys are riding bareback. She’s learning to jump hurdles in a lady’s saddle. Freddie and Eddie Heywood are coming to stay for a month in October, after harvest is over…”

“Yes, Frederick and Edward; they are the same ages as you and Alicia. I forgot that. Nice boys, those two, very handsome as all the Heywoods are. Was it a pleasant letter on the whole?”

“I suppose. She said I was lucky to go with you and see Paris. She said they had not heard anything from Father." She paused. "Have you?”

"No, I’m afraid not. Your father used to write beautiful letters. I do hope he’s taking care of himself.”

“Jenny,” called Amelia from the doorway. “We are going to the beach with Uncle Arthur. Would you like to come with us? Aunt Mary would you?”

“Why not,” Jenny replied. “Mother?”

“I believe I will stay here. But you two run along.”

Jenny tied on her bonnet and slung over her shoulder the little satchel that carried her pencils and sketchbook.

Arthur, Jay and Adam waited out front. Jay had been tasked by his mother to take care of his little brother, and he was eager to prove he could meet her expectations. Along the way, Arthur always effervescent, sang an old French folk song he’d learned somewhere about a drummer boy. Jay kept tight hold of Adam’s hand.

At the far end of the beach, a lone man stood before an easel, painting. Adam broke free from Jay's hand and scampered down the beach towards the stranger. It became a game for Adam, running and dodging his big brother until finally quite near the stranger Jay grasped the little boy around the waist. In his best Papa-like voice he admonished his brother, “You do not race off in such a manner.”

The painter chuckled. “You are British.”

“Indeed we are sir. You as well?”

“You could say that, but I’ve lived in France since I was fourteen.” He smiled broadly then, a young man, perhaps four and twenty, well dressed, a gentleman, dark curly hair surrounding his round face, his brown eyes reflecting curiosity and kindness.

“Do you live here, in Saint-Tropez?” asked Jay.

“No, just passing through, saw this lovely spot and could not leave without capturing it.”

Jay, with Adam firmly in his grip, walked a bit closer. “What sort of paint is that?”

“Watercolor.”

“My cousin draws. She’s very good. Would you mind if I brought her to see? She’s there with my uncle and sister.”

“Not at all.”

The three others were walking towards them anyway, but Jay motioned them over. “Jenny, come look.”

At first look it seemed nothing more than splotches of color to her with a light pencil drawing underneath. Then she understood he was layering the paint, letting it blend with the water on the paper, dabbing it off in places with a soft cloth. She could see the sky, where it met the sea, the limestone crags, how he left some places white, free of paint. “How does it work, the paint?” she asked, entranced.

He carefully explained the paints and paper and brushes, a bit of the history, how he used to make his own colors, but now there were very good ones in cakes, which he pulled from his box and put in her hand. He worked in oils as well, he told her, but the light achieved with watercolor was unlike any other, in his opinion.

“I will let this dry now. Is your sketchbook in your satchel there?” he asked.

She nodded, shyly. “Go ahead, Jenny, show him,” Jay encouraged.

The painter looked through the drawings, then looked at her. “These are very good. You have talent.”

She felt the color rise in her cheeks. “I am only a beginner. I would like to paint as you do here. We passed through Roussillon on the way here, and I knew I needed to use color someday…”

“The ochre hills, yes, I can understand your feelings. Many artist paints are made from the ochre mined there. May I?” he took one of her drawings of the sea and applied several layers of color to it. “Of course, when the paper is wet, the effect is completely different. Let it dry before you close it.”

“Where do you get these paints?”

“Paris, mostly. They can be ordered through a stationer’s shop. Or I could send on some supplies.”

“Oh truly, sir, that would be far more than I would expect.”

“You know, when I was fourteen, a very famous artist found me sketching on the docks of Calais, right after my family moved from England. He took me under his wing. I should like to help such talent as I see in you, however I can.” He addressed his query to Arthur now, who had been standing nearby, observing with his usual joie de vivre. “Is your family here for some time?”

“We are here through the winter,” Arthur said.

“Ah, Mr?”

“Parker. Arthur Parker.”

“Mr Parker, pleased to meet you. I am Richard Parkes Bonington. If you will, put your address on the back of my card here, and I will send along some paint and other supplies for the young lady to work with.”

Arthur wrote the address on the card and returned it to the man along with his pencil, who tucked both into his painter’s box.

“But I know not how to use the paints,” said Jenny.

“I will send a book or two. Here is my card for you. And your name?”

“Jenny Parker.”

“Miss Parker. I am pleased to meet such a fine young talent. Well, I must be packing up and leaving. My traveling companion waits for no man. A pleasure,” he tipped his hat. “Miss Parker, keep working, you have great promise.”

After he left, Jenny kept her sketchbook open to the sun so the painted page would dry completely. The man who had kissed her in Sanditon was about the same age as this man, yet the former only took from her. This man took nothing; he gave, for no other reason than the goodness of his heart. She watched as her Uncle Arthur ran and played with the three children, as if he were a child himself. Maybe the world was not as complicated as she thought.

A year later, Jenny was in London with her mother, at a large stationer’s store buying paints and paper. An art periodical caught her eye, as there on the cover was a portrait of the man she had met in Saint-Tropez that day, Richard Parkes Bonington. He had died from consumption just before his twenty-sixth birthday, right there in London. He was quite famous it seemed. She had no idea. A rush of sorrow passed through her. She would never be able to repay his kindness, not only for the large box of paper and paints and brushes and books that had arrived for her six weeks after they met on the beach, but for his encouragement. His ability to see talent in the drawings of a young girl and leave her with words that inspired. She would never forget him.

###

She still fit into the pale pink satin gown, but just barely. Haskell helped her slip the robe on and tied the ribbons. Charlotte felt a smile remembering Sidney saying, _I do not know why she takes such pains to tie these ribbons, surely she knows I will just untie them_. Now with her hair loose about her, the tiniest touch of gardenia oil between her breasts and behind her knees, she thanked Haskell, who wished her and her husband a very happy anniversary, and said good night.

He waited for her, as he had on their wedding night, not with the fervor of anticipation as he had then, but the depth of knowing. They were as interlaced as threads on a loom, their lives a fabric of joy and sorrow, contentment and anger, worry and relief, always with the gossamers of love woven through the center.

She walked to where he stood and placed her palms against his chest, tilting her face to his. He slid one hand around her back and pulled her to him, with the other he caressed her neck and stroked her cheek with his thumb. They moved together, slow and deliberate. Touching with the slightest of pressure; lips skimming lightly, mouths open. He trailed kisses down her neck, untying the satin ribbons on her robe, then slipped his hands inside over her shoulders and pulled it down, removing it, tossing it onto a nearby chair.

She untied his robe, kissed and nuzzled up his neck, and out to his shoulders, sliding it off. Pulling back to watch him, she drew her fingers up his thighs, then held and handled and stroked him in just the way she knew he could not resist. He dropped his head back and exhaled with a laugh. “Slow down, Mrs Parker.”

“Will it not do, Mr Parker?” she asked, kissing him along his jaw.

“You know how well it will do, and _what_ it will do.”

He knelt down and raised the gown, inch by inch, caressing with hands, lips, teeth and tongue her inner thighs, between them, where he stayed for some time, her fingers weaving through his hair. Then up her belly, where the baby moved. “This one knows her Papa,” he said, caressing and kissing his way up to her breasts. He stood and pulled her gown up and off, tossing it towards the chair.

“I cannot jump on you this time. We’ll have to do as we did with Jay and Adam.”

“Step aboard.” She wound her arms about his neck and stood on his feet. He lumbered the two of them to the bed, holding her close, both of them laughing.

**The Twenty-First of September, 1827**

Jay now had the habit of waking early and visiting Madame Gravier in the kitchen. She would make him toast, and he would help with tasks, pumping water into the kettle to heat or grinding coffee. The newcomers were becoming accustomed to the French way of a light breakfast and a large noon day meal, the opposite of the English way of a large breakfast and little or no midday food. When the others arrived at the table for petit dejeuner, he would join them for a second round. None of the ladies took breakfast with them except his Mama. He never knew why, but he was always happy she did.

When Charlotte appeared shortly after Sidney, Jay rushed to her. “Did you like your present? Did you?"

“Yes, I am wearing it, see?” In her hair was a gold clip barrette, the end with the figure of a hand wearing a tiny ring, a pretty ruffled cuff at the wrist, all cleverly covering the mechanism that opened and closed the clip. Amelia left her chair to come look.

“So pretty, Mama!”

“I helped pick it out!” said Jay.

“I heard. Thank you, I love it!”

“What was your gift, Papa?” asked Amelia.

“I received a set of poetry books, Wordsworth. Mama says she will read them to me while she feeds me grapes,” replied Sidney, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly upturned as he sipped his café au lait.

“As you lie with your head in her lap,” said Francis, winking.

“Precisely.”

“Well, Papa is not one to wear golden clips in his hair,” Charlotte returned.

“And why shouldn’t gentlemen wear golden clips? I would,” Arthur said.

“Of course,” agreed Charlotte, “you could wear your golden hair clip while you blossomed as a lily of the field.”

They began to laugh, first a little snickering and then full on guffaw. “Oh, my goodness, I had forgotten all about that,” Arthur giggled. “That horrible sermon by Reverend Hankins about ladies blossoming and being _plucked_. Dear me, that was embarrassing.”

“And he referred to Georgiana as an _exotic_ bloom.”

“She did not like that man,” said Otis, wiping Georgie's hands.

“She had every reason not to,” Arthur added. “During the first regatta I had to rescue her from him by claiming I needed her for the duck race.”

“There was no duck race,” Sidney replied.

“Exactly,” said Arthur.

A note arrived for Francis. “Ah, from Étienne. As he had thought, the grapes are ready and the harvest will start tomorrow. It takes about a week, and the last day is the picker’s meal, a great celebration. We must go to that, but we can also visit anytime and watch the crushing in his new presses, and even stomp grapes in the old vats.”

“Stomp grapes?” asked Jay.

“Ah, this will be an adventure for you,” Francis answered.

_Sanditon_

Mrs Bunting had just finished the day’s canning, putting away large batches of applesauce for the winter months. There came a pounding on the front door. “Who could that be?” she said aloud with annoyance. The pounding continued. Mr and Mrs Evans were most likely outside or at their own cottage, so she wiped her hands on her apron and headed through the house to answer. There stood Mr Tom Parker.

“Oh, hello, I have something I wish to leave for my brother.” Next to him was a large, flat rectangular package. “I’ll just put it in his study.”

“Allow me to show you, sir,” Mrs Bunting offered.

“No, no, this was my house for years, and I grew up here as well. I know where to go, thank you.” He brushed past her, package and all.

He made his way to the study where everything was draped in dust covers. _I’ll just set it here,_ he thought. _Hmmm, the old desk. Father’s and grandfather’s and great grandfather’s. Why did I not take it? Well, too late now, it is Sidney’s._ He pulled off the dust cover. _Father always kept it locked. Did Sidney? No, it was not. Well, let us see. The top drawer, pens, ink, pencils, sealing wax… nothing interesting. The right side drawers…empty of anything important. A few old shipping schedules but nothing more. The left side drawers, ahhh, ledgers._ He pulled them out and began to flip through. He recognized the hand. It was Father’s. These were Father’s old ledgers from the company. _Why the hell did Sidney have them? Ah, of course, they were left in the desk._ He checked the hidden compartment. Nothing. No surprise there, knowing his brother. Obviously, Sidney kept things elsewhere. He was always secretive.

Mr Evans came around the front of the house just as Tom’s carriage rode off, the front door of the house left wide open. He went inside calling, “Hello? Hello?”

Mrs Bunting came in from the back. “Is he gone?”

“Who?”

“Mr Tom Parker. He came with a large package and took it to the study.”

They looked at each other and went to the study, where the dust cloth from the desk was in a heap on the floor, the large package leaning against a wall. Without a word they picked up the cloth and replaced it. “You need to write to Mr Parker,” said Mrs Bunting.

“And I think I need to speak to Lord Babington as well.”

Tom’s thoughts were miles away as he rode back to Sanditon. A well-known portrait painter was coming next week. Tom would have himself painted as Lord Nelson. Of course, he was the lord of Trafalgar House, should not his portrait be of him as the Admiral? It would be finished and hung in place when Mary returned. Surely she would be pleased to see her husband’s portrait hanging on the wall instead of her brother-in-law. She had written him from Paris. Well, who cares about Paris? He’d write back eventually, but first, the portrait. What a masterful stroke of genius that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken a bit of poetic license with Richard Parkes Bonington, as there is no evidence he ever visited the Côte d'Azur. He did take a tour of Italy in 1826, but all his biographical info says he was in Paris and for a time in London in 1827, the year before he died. But he was said to be an intrepid traveler, so for the story's sake, I'm putting him in Saint-Tropez at the favorite inlet of the clan, just in time to meet Jenny.


	29. The Days of Wine and Birthdays

**The Twenty-Ninth of September, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

They had all left that morning for Monsieur Boudreau’s vineyard and the last day of the harvest, so the servants could both rest and catch up on work. Mathilde spent the first few hours up at the main house, washing all the muslins for her mistress and little Georgie, scrubbing them on the washboard, boiling in the kettle, wringing and hanging to dry on the line.

She loved the guest house. After nearly two weeks, she felt settled into the privacy it afforded, with its own small kitchen and charming terrace overlooking the sea, where she sat just at this moment, enjoying a bit of cool tea leftover from her mistress’s morning meal. What she cared not for, or so she told herself, was that Abeo Offiah’s room was next to hers. Only the five of them resided in the little cottage: the Molyneuxs and their two servants. She thought of Abeo at night while she lay in her bed, thinking he was _next door_.

As these thoughts crossed her mind, he appeared on the terrace. He and Roland had adopted the attire of the gentlemen, no cravat or waistcoat. She assumed they had first asked the men they served. Much to her vexation, it simply made him more appealing, his muscular neck now fully revealed. She feigned indifference when he sat next to her.

“Miss Crockett. May I join you in admiring this lovely view?”

“Suit yourself,” she said.

“Have you been down along the beach?”

“Briefly.”

“Why do we not go? I am finished with my duties for the day. Are you?”

“I have clothing drying.”

He laughed, deep and full, _ha ha haaaa,_ the inflection rising at the end. “You cannot make them dry Miss Crockett. They will do that all by themselves as we walk. Come now, let us enjoy the afternoon.” He stood and offered his hand.

She scrutinized him, up and down, stood on her own and said, “Very well.”

She spoke little to him on the way, then upon reaching the shore, she marched off. He caught up and tried to take her hand. She pulled it away.

“Why do you dislike me so, Mathilde?” he asked, striding after her.

“I did not give you permission to call me so.”

“I apologize, _Miss Crockett_.” She continued her trudging through the sand. “Stop now,” he called after her.

She did, her back to him. “Why do you dislike me so?” he asked again, reaching her side.

“I do not dislike you.”

“Then what?”

“It is not proper.”

“What is not proper?”

“We work for the Molyneuxs.”

“So _what?”_

“You cannot possibly be interested in me for anything more than a… a tryst.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it is true.”

“It is most definitely _not_ true, Mathilde.”

She turned to him, impassioned. “Then what? What do you want?”

He stepped back. “I want to know you.”

“Why?”

“Because… you intrigue me. You move my soul.”

She scoffed. “Pretty poetry. It means nothing.”

He appeared stung by her words. “Then what do you want?” he challenged. “To spend the rest of your life washing someone else’s undergarments, while scorning all attempts by someone to love you?”

Stunned, she recoiled from him. “Love? Ha! You do not _love_ me,” she flicked her hand dismissively.

“How do you know? You will not let me show you.”

She turned and huffed back up the path, caring not what happened to him.

Instead of returning to the cottage, she went to the back yard of the main house to check the clothing and turn them to speed the drying. _Love me_ , she thought. _What kind of fool does he take me for? With his looks he could have any number of pretty young women. London is full of them, from all over the colonies. He simply wants someone to warm his bed while in France._ She was not born yesterday.

###

_Near Ramatuelle_

It took less than an hour to reach the Boudreau manor and vineyards situated outside the medieval town of Ramatuelle. The grape harvesting was nearly finished, all of the Cinsaut was in, and a few teams were still in the fields filling their paniers with large bunches of the last of the Mourvèdre grapes, another team taking the full baskets and replacing it with an empty one, then carrying the grapes over to large oak barrels on a donkey-drawn dray. 

Most of the main activity now centered in the cellar, where Étienne and his son, Guillaume, were overseeing the processing of the grapes. When the drays of full barrels arrived, more teams sorted through the grapes on large tables, removing any spoiled or moldy grapes and as many stems as possible. From there, the red grapes went to a large mechanical crusher and then to the first ferment in vats. The Mourvèdre and Cinsaut grapes that would become rosé went directly to the large wooden basket presses, as did the Pascal Blanc grapes for white wine.

Étienne took great pride in his modern cellar, although Jay was devastated to learn that there would be no grape stomping that year, as all the _must_ was being produced from the mechanically crushed grapes. Sidney and Otis went with Étienne to the underground cave, where the barrels of wine from previous years fermented and aged. They tasted and talked, then reemerged into the midday sun like moles from a tunnel.

Giselle, Étienne’s daughter, was supervising the grand feast for all the workers, with wines and aperitifs, olives, Saucisson Sec, Le Grand Aïoli with bowls of fresh garlic mayonnaise and platters of salt cod, boiled eggs, and every vegetable grown in Provence. There were platters of cheeses and fruits and breads. The children ran and danced and played between the grape vines, picking a few grapes that had been left here and there, popping them into their mouths, spitting the seeds at each other.

Throughout all was the sense of joy, of the end of a season. Charlotte knew this well, as a farmer’s daughter, the harvest celebration, the thanking of those who assisted in the bounty. She might be a thousand miles from Willingden, the food on the table and the language different, but the feeling was exactly the same. She knew it deep in her bones.

After an hour or so of gaiety and mingling, Étienne, Guillaume, and Giselle led their guests into the old stone manor to sit around the massive oak dining table for their own meal, a lavish affair, leaving the workers to enjoy themselves. Charlotte sat across from Étienne and Diana, Sidney to her one side and Otis to the other, Georgiana next to him. Étienne, with his light brown hair graying at the temples, was an undeniable handsome man, in his early forties, a broad forehead and brow, arresting gray eyes, a strong Gallic nose, his jaw striking a sharp angle to his square chin. He appeared both strong and sensitive, and in a way reminded Charlotte of Sidney. Certainly the two seemed to enjoy each other’s company immensely. 

Guillaume was a younger version of his father, but with dark eyes and darker hair. To anyone looking, it was clear Jenny found it difficult to keep _her_ eyes off him, but to her credit, she remained poised. That Étienne and Diana were besotted was also in evidence. As Otis leaned back in his chair and spoke to Sidney, Georgiana leaned forward and whispered to Charlotte, “When were you going to tell me about those two?”

“It is not my story to tell. You must speak to Diana. You _can_ leave the cottage now and then, you know.”

Georgiana nodded. “I know. It’s just so peaceful there.”

“Well?” said Charlotte, shrugging her shoulders.

As the day waned and the meal finished, it was decided they must return to Saint-Tropez before dark.

**The Thirtieth of September, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

Jay’s eyes opened at first light. _I am seven years old today!_ He dressed and joined Madame Gravier in the kitchen. “Ah, joyeux anniversaire mon petit.”

“Merci!”

She had already taken the coffee grinder down for him and placed the milking stool beside the table so he could reach. When he finished his task, she put three eggs and a bowl in front of him to crack and beat, then she motioned him to move the stool over to the stove. For the first time since his initial venture into the kitchen, she took out two blackened pans. She guided him all the way through the process of making his omelet, a few instructions here and there, but mostly her hand over his, steering his movements, helping him to lift the heavy pan at the end. He could not have been more pleased with himself as he ate his first petit déjeuner of the day in Madame Gravier’s kitchen. 

When he went to join the rest of his family around the dining table, his place was piled with gifts. A set of carved dominos from Francis, Diana and Arthur. A Bilbo catcher from Otis and Georgiana. And two gifts from Papa and Mama: a velvet pouch of glass marbles, cat eyes of all colors, thirty targets and two big shooters; and a wooden peg top.

“What do you wish to do today?” Jay’s father asked him.

“Sea bathing!”

“Jolly good idea,” agreed Arthur.

Later in the morning, four grown men and a little one left their clothing up on the sand and splashed into the waters of the inlet. The hint of autumn tinged the air, but the temperature of the sea was still far more agreeable than it was in August in Sanditon, and the sun warmed the day pleasantly. The waves and currents were calm, and Jay was able to keep up with his father as they swam out past the inlet promontories and into the open water of the gulf. In the warm, gentle water, Sidney taught Jay how to backstroke and sidestroke. They all raced and let Jay win (it was his birthday, after all).

“That water rivals Antigua in placidness,” said Sidney as they walked back.

“Now,” Arthur replied, “but you will see quite a change in the next months. The winter sea is not the same, especially if the Mistral comes.”

“What is that?” asked Jay.

“A very cold, dry wind that comes from the mountains in the north, down the valley where it picks up speed,” said Francis. “It changes the currents out in the water. Stirs things up.”

“Yes, this little inlet does not look the same in December and January,” Arthur added.

They made it back in time for déjeuner, and a grand meal of langoustine, cooked in butter and olive oil, garlic and Herbes de Provence, with rice and a salad of tomatoes and haricots vert. The children, at Arthur’s instruction, sopped up the fragrant butter from the langoustine with bread. For dessert, Madame had made her famous Galette des Rois, Kings’ Cake with candied fruit.

Jay, tired out from his day and all the food, took a lie down with Adam, while Amelia and Jenny worked on their diary. The grown-ups dispersed to their own quiet spots, Charlotte and Sidney were in a bit of shade in the garden, on a blanket with bowl of grapes from the basket that came home with them the night before, and Volume One of Wordsworth. She leaned against a tree, her legs stretched out, his head resting in her lap. He rubbed the back of his hand lazily across her belly, closing his eyes now and then. With one hand she caressed his dark curls, the other held open the book at her side, finishing with _She was a Phantom of Delight_ :

“A perfect Woman; nobly plann'd, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright, With something of an angel light.”

“Hmm, lovely." He kissed her belly. "He wrote it about his wife, but it might as well be about you.”

“You’re buttering me up for more grapes.”

“You caught me,” he grinned.

“I have given you at least two dozen.”

“Well, I’m ready for more.”

“You will have to come here then.” She plucked one from the bunch and put it between her lips.

“I know you, as soon as I try you will eat it yourself.”

She shook her head. He sighed, then raised himself up, propped on one hand, leisurely leaning towards her, cupping her face with his other hand. He inched in, finally taking the grape from her.

“See,” she said against his lips. “Now you have to give me one.”

He held it up to her, “Bite.” A tiny rivulet of juice ran down her lip when she did. He took it away with his tongue. He traced her lips with the flesh of the grape, anointing them with juice, then slipping it into her mouth, he kissed the nectar away.

**The Third of October, 1827**

_London_

“Esther, my love, I’m meeting Crowe for a drink or two. Be back in time for dinner. Anything I can bring for you?” Babington sat down beside her on the settee.

She looked up from her book. “Only yourself,” she said with a knowing smile. “Was that a letter from Sidney that came?”

“Oh, yes, forgot to tell you. They arrived, arduous journey at times, but everyone’s well. They are thrilled to see the others. Manor sounds delightful, and he gives a description of the town, which he says surprised him. Some issues with Tom he asked me to check about when we return to Sanditon next. Oh, and Diana, Lady Gilbert, is expecting a child end of next month. Apparently no one knew until they arrived. Quite something.”

“Quite! Goodness. Diana and then Charlotte three months later.” She tilted her head to take his kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

She returned to her book, then closed it again. He was keeping something from her; she just knew. When she was certain he had left, she searched the desk in his study. He always kept his papers tidy, usually personal letters and correspondence separated from business. She saw nothing from Sidney and hunted around underneath the others. Then. Found it, on the very bottom.

_21 September, 1827 Saint-Tropez_

_Babbers,_

_We made it, arrived on the 17 th. What a journey, at times grueling, other times fascinating, but always hours and hours of sitting in the blasted coaches. The children took it all in stride, and we are so very pleased with them. No complaining or arguing. Plucky little travelers they are. Charlotte was not always comfortable, but she endured it far better than I would have in her condition. To this day I still do not know how a rogue such as I managed to win her heart._

_Arthur, Diana and Francis are veritable natives. We arrived to find Diana is expecting a child at the end of October! They are most happy about it, and she in particular to have the other ladies with her. The manor is spacious, well built and very comfortable, with a handsome view of the gulf, which is a short walk away. Diana’s only lament is no pianoforte. Francis has been attempting to mitigate._

_St Tropez has about 4,000 inhabitants, very charming, and with far more amenities than one would expect given its faraway location. But here’s the thing – everything goes by ship. St Maxime, a similar town nearby, is a bustling port, and St Tropez is both a port for the French navy and a large fishing fleet. Far more commerce than I ever would have thought, all carried on tartanes, those small single mast ships that travel the entire Mediterranean. Cork, timber, olives and oil, wine, honey, chestnuts are just a few of the commodities from here. Fascinating._

_There is a family friend, a_ _vigneron, Étienne Boudreau, has an old ancestral vineyard nearby. Recently modernized production and planted several new hectares in vines, looking to export at some point. We have had a few good discussions. Something to think about. I could fancy exclusive import rights to a good wine source. And he is a very good man who makes very good wine._

_Please, my apologies, but I have another Tom favor to ask. Our groundskeeper, Evans, wrote that Tom visited one day, asked to be let into the house, had tea, asked questions about the addition, and it all sounds as if he is planning something for Trafalgar House. Of course, he cannot take any loans against it without the company’s approval, as two of the loans we retired were mortgages on it. Still, he has not written, even to Mary or his children. So next time you are in Sanditon, if you could do a little digging. I do not want him to know Evans wrote me. Thanks for that._

_Lastly, we received a bit more information about E.D. as we were leaving Paris. Mary spoke to (the new) Lady Denham, who said they planned to be in London by Christmas after traveling to Italy etc. She also mentioned_ _Edward has spoken a great deal about Sanditon, and that “he was forced to sell his ancestral home.” So his plans are anyone’s guess. I continue to think they cannot be good, whatever they are._

_Enough for now. Love to Esther and the family, and we all send ours to you._

_Yours,_

_SP_

And there it was. He did choose to hide something. Either he did not trust her about Edward, or he assumed she already knew and did not wish to confront her. _Dear Esther, what a tangled web you have woven_ , she thought.


	30. Autumn in Provence

**The Eleventh of October, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

Autumn touched the Mediterranean with brightly colored berries on hawthorn and arbousier, while the trees largely remained green. The days were still warm and pleasant, the nights cool and refreshing. Market stalls now carried pumpkins, chestnuts, and champignons from the forest alongside tomatoes, sweet peppers, and aubergines.

Étienne arrived in the early morning on horseback to see Diana, now in her confinement, then he and Sidney would take the carriage to Sainte-Maxime to view the port activity and discuss business.

“Come back to me,” Charlotte whispered as he kissed her goodbye.

“You know I will, my love. It is only for the day, to the other side of the gulf. We will return late afternoon.” He knew she felt anxious these days, still beset at times by the desire for nothing but Madame Gravier’s pickled butter pears, bread and salty cheese; sleeping poorly, moving pillows about her, the baby active and kicking at night. He could do little more than rub her aching back and feet, try to make her laugh, hold her.

As they traveled along the narrow road around the gulf, Étienne asked Sidney many questions about his business and shipping to and from London. Then he said, “I must ask you about ma chère Diana… her ailments. Has she always been so disposed to this thinking?”

“Ah, yes, I understand what you speak of. I believe now she is concerned about the upcoming birth, so she focuses on her afflictions, most of which are imagined.”

“As I thought. But why?”

“Well, I’m not entirely certain. I had already left for Antigua when it became perceptible, that was late 1809. She was two and twenty at the time, and had already seen three Seasons… that is the period when Parliament is in session and social events abound in London. Young women of marrying age are presented, so to speak, to eligible young men. During those three Seasons, she met no one who was interested in her that she felt the same towards, but in truth, we had a shortage of young men due to the wars. Certainly it must have been true here in France as well.”

“Oui. I was myself in the war. So many young men lost. Austerlitz was my last engagement. I married when I returned. One of the lucky ones.”

“And we are most glad for that. To hell with war.”

“Oui, au diable la guerre. But to return, how was this to cause her imaginary illnesses?”

Sidney shifted in the seat, attempting to put his thoughts into words. “She came to see herself as unwanted I suppose, so her health became a reason she couldn’t possibly marry. She lived at home; Arthur was quite young, twelve when I left. My brother Tom and Mary were engaged then, wed that summer. That winter of ’10, a small outbreak of consumption came to Sanditon. First my father became ill, and Tom took Mary and Arthur to London. Diana stayed behind to help. Shortly after, our Mama became ill. Diana nursed them both, but it was to no avail. They passed away within a week of each other; father was first." He looked out the window and then back at Étienne. "One of the greatest regrets of my life; I was not there when it happened. Never saw them again.”

“Ah, yes. It must have been difficult for you at that age. But Diana did not become ill?”

“No, not that I was ever told, but I do believe she felt somehow responsible for their deaths, for failing to save them. Of course, she was not responsible. After all was settled, my brother Tom inherited nearly all as the first son. He and Mary moved back to the old Parker House, and Diana took Arthur to live with her at the family home in London. She no longer wished to live in Sanditon. And from then on, all her attention was devoted to Arthur. They were together all that time. He never went away to school as Tom and I had; there was no provision in father’s will, and Tom did not wish to provide for it. The two of them had become near invalids by the time I returned from Antigua in early ’18, believing they had every ailment and condition known to medicine.”

“She said to me after they met Francis, they became well.”

“That is true, but I would say it was more they ceased _to think_ they were ill. The rest of us had learned to ignore their constant complaints. We knew there was nothing wrong with them, and countless doctors had said the same. But Francis achieved something none of us could. He persuaded them to see their illnesses were not real. How he accomplished it, I do not know.”

“But for Diana, it has come back.”

“She is better though, now that she has her sisters here. I’ve noticed it. I believe fear was the cause, and the other women are helping her with it.”

“This is true, for she was not so when we first met.” He patted Sidney on the knee. “Merci mon ami. I feel better.”

“Is it difficult for you? The… situation?”

“Oui et non. She told me everything at the beginning. But the child has complicated the matter. I think the decision we have made is for the best, especially for the child. There is no divorce in France right now, and I understand it is nearly impossible in England, so what can we do? She did, as you say, consider herself undesirable and therefore chose to marry Francis to protect both Arthur and him. If we could predict the future, a better place for us would be the gaming tables, would it not?”

Sidney laughed. “True, my friend, very true.”

###

“I do not understand why he is not writing. To any of us. It’s so unlike him. He was always one for prolific correspondence,” Mary confided to Charlotte and Georgiana as they walked through town. The narrow winding streets were dappled in sunlight and shadow as billowy clouds passed overhead, the bright mustard yellows and ochres of the stone and stucco buildings blazed bright when the sun hit them. “What do I say to my children? I am at sixes and sevens over this.”

“I wish I knew what to tell you. I know Sidney asked Babington to look in on him next time he was out there, but, truly, who else can we ask?”

“Dr Fuchs?” wondered Georgiana.

Charlotte winced. “And what if he were to misunderstand, deciding Tom has lost his mind and belongs in an institution?”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Mary sighed, shaking her head. “Now I feel it was a mistake to leave him.”

“What about James Stringer?” Charlotte suggested. “He knows Tom quite well. He’s often in Sanditon. Perhaps you should write to him.”

“Yes, I suppose before I panic, pack up and leave, I should try. We simply have no friends anymore that I would count on, and all the family is gone away. It isn’t as if I could ask the local cobbler to check on him.”

“What about Wickens? Or his valet?” asked Georgiana.

“Yes, I wondered that, too, but if Tom were to find out, see the letter for example.”

“True. I think Charlotte is right. Ask James Stringer.”

“What on earth could he be doing?” Mary wondered, almost to herself. “There is no construction for him to visit. The final ceremony happened weeks ago. Most everything runs by routine, the bathing machines being stored, the apartments cleaned and closed up. There is very little that requires his attention.”

“He has been to our house twice,” Charlotte confessed.

“What? How do you know?”

“Our groundskeeper wrote to Sidney. Both times Tom asked to be let inside. The first time he wandered around, then had tea outside on the terrace, asking questions about who designed and built the addition. That’s what makes me think asking James Stringer might be a good idea.”

“What did he do the second time?”

“He brought and left a large package that Evans said appeared to be a painting of some kind by the size and shape. He… well, they thought Tom rummaged about in the desk in the study. The dust cover was removed and a drawer was partially open.”

“Oh my dear, why did you not tell me?”

“Sidney thought it would upset you, and there was nothing you could do anyway. He suspects that Tom might be envisioning building some kind of addition on Trafalgar House.”

“He could not possibly pay for it.”

“Right, which is why Sidney thought there was no need to worry you about it. But if Tom talked to Mr Stringer, you could find something out perhaps.”

Mary stopped walking, stood looking at the ground in front of her, then snapped her fingers. “I know what he took up there.”

“What?” Charlotte and Georgiana asked at the same time.

She looked between the two of them. “Sidney’s portrait.”

###

“Why on earth would he deliver that old portrait to the house?” Sidney asked. He and Étienne had returned late afternoon as he had promised, and they all gathered around the dinner table.

“Because, Sidney, he blames you for his situation. Of course, we know it isn’t because of you, but Tom… you know Tom,” Mary sighed.

“So he thinks he is punishing me somehow? What does that mean?”

“He does not want to look at it anymore,” said Jenny almost under her breath.

“Jenny?” said Mary.

“I’ve heard him. He… talks to it. Before we left he said, _I am tired of looking at you. There should be a portrait me, not you._ ”

“Why did you not tell me this?”

“Because he talks to himself all the time. I assumed you knew.”

“So perhaps that is what he has been doing, getting his portrait painted,” said Georgiana.

“Well, that does not sound too dangerous,” offered Étienne.

“With Tom, you never know,” said Arthur.

**The Twenty-Third of October, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

Shortly after midnight, Diana awoke with pains. She had false ones for several days before, the midwives visiting frequently then, and she was sure these were the beginning. She woke Charlotte and Mary, and after a few minutes with Diana they determined the midwives should be notified. Mary woke Francis to set him to the task.

Madames Cariveau and Laurent arrived two hours later. Soon Georgiana joined them. Francis sent a note to Étienne. At noon Diana still labored. “Is it normal?” Francis asked Sidney.

“In my experience, yes, it does take time.”

“Sidney is right,” said Étienne, “it is normal. Madame Cariveau delivered both my children. She studied at the Paris School of Midwives, came here with her husband, who was at the Citadel. He died in war. She stayed. She has delivered hundreds and hundreds of babies. She has never lost a mother. Do not worry.”

Charlotte came down to rest, exhausted herself. “Étienne, she would like to speak to you.”

At 6:00 in the evening, Diana safely delivered a baby girl, Isabelle Catherine Gilbert, named for her father’s mother and her father’s mother.

“Tuesday’s child is full of grace,” said Francis, holding the little girl in his arms.


	31. The End of October and Into November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for your lovely, insightful comments. I cannot tell you how much they keep me going.

**The Thirtieth of October, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

She started at his hairline, across his forehead and brow, the lightest feather kisses. Then to his eyelids, as they began to flutter, and down the bridge of his nose. He smiled, drowsy with sleep.

“Many happy returns, my love,” she whispered against his cheek.

He stretched and yawned, then turned onto his side, resting his head against his bent arm. Sliding the fingers of his other hand behind her ear, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I’m old now, six and thirty today. No longer the fine man you first met.”

“Sidney Parker, you will be a fine man when you are eighty.”

He pulled her in, kissing her tenderly, slowly. “Well, if I am to reach that age, you must be with me, as I am certain I could not live without you.”

She caressed his chest with the tips of her fingers. “Nor I without you.”

**The First of November, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

_La Fete de la Toussaint_ , All Saints Day. The people of the town attended church services, went to the graveyard with rakes and brooms to clean the stones and crypts, remove weeds, tidy the graves. They placed flowers, and talked of their loved ones, shared a meal. The French servants in the household were given leave. Étienne and his children went to the family plot to tend to the graves of their mothers, and fathers and wife.

But new life held sway as well. Isabelle was hearty and strong, with a shock of dark straight hair, Diana cheerful, up and about. Francis and Arthur could not, would not, stop adoring the little girl. Charlotte felt a sense of relief to have seen the midwives during the birth, giving her confidence for what was to come in January.

A plan now formed about Tom Parker. Letters traveled back and forth as quickly as mail from the Var region would allow. The children staying with Alison wrote asking their father to visit for Christmas in Cumberland. Charles, Henry and James would travel down to Sanditon to bring him. James Stringer had little to offer other than his assurance that he would visit Tom when next in Sanditon. He had received no correspondence from Tom about additions or any other matter.

Otis took Sidney aside. “I remembered something that may be of interest to you. Perhaps two years ago, I met with a group of Quaker abolitionists in York. The old man, William Tuke, who passed some years back, became aware of the ghastly conditions in mental institutions because of an incident where a Quaker woman died in one. So along with the Society of Friends, he raised funds to build a humane institution, based on many of the French practices, in fact, using gentler methods he called _Moral Treatment_. It may be something for you to consider for your brother if he continues in this vein.”

“What else do you know of this place?” asked Sidney.

“Not that much, I am sorry to say. I know they use no physical punishment. They treat patients with walks, and labor, and socializing, and as I understand, it is tailored to the person and their needs. The institution is most successful and placements are in high demand. Perhaps you should inquire?”

“Have you the address?”

“I do.”

**The Fourth of November, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

Adam worked to close the buttons on his new trousers, Charlotte guiding his little fingers. He would have his breeching celebration today, his third birthday, but only if he could button and, most importantly, unbutton the fall himself. When he finished the last button, he squealed with delight and bolted from the room as fast as his three year old legs would carry him. His mother hauled herself from the chair and went after her son, who was clad in nothing but the trousers.

Adam found what he was looking for in the sitting room reading British newspapers sent by Babington. “Papa, look!” He laughed and spun around in little stomping steps.

“Look at you, a big boy now,” chuckled his father.

“Hold on,” said Charlotte from the doorway. “Adam, you cannot wear them unless you can unbutton them. Come here and let me teach you how.”

“Yes Adam, your Mama is an expert at unbuttoning trousers.” He tried, but could not entirely stop the smile that spread across his face.

Charlotte’s mouth fell open and her eyebrows shot up. “Sidney!”

“What?” He was laughing now.

“I have never heard you _complain_.”

“And I do not now. Simply an observation, my love.” He gave her his best smile.

“You tread into risky territory, Mr Parker.”

“Do I?”

“For a later discussion.” She looked at Adam. “Go to your Papa. He will show you how to unbutton.” She sat down on the settee and crossed her arms. Adam looked back and forth between the two. “Go on, Papa. Show him.”

“Come here, my boy.” He slid forward in his chair and stood Adam in front of him. “Now, when you have to go…”

“Yes,” said Adam. “Have to go pee.”

“What, now?”

“Yes.”

“Go on, _Papa_ ,” said Charlotte from the settee.

Sidney sighed at stood up. “Come along.” He led Adam out by the hand.

“I would walk a little faster if I were you,” she called after him.

That afternoon, Adam had his breeching celebration. First he appeared in his calf length muslin gown with pantaloons underneath. Then his mother and nanny whisked him away. When he reappeared, he wore his first skeleton suit of buff colored cotton nankeen, the trousers buttoned to a short matching jacket; a white muslin shirt worn underneath with a wide neck and big collar edged with frills. He stood with his father while Jenny made a quick sketch. Then he received his gifts of wooden puzzles, tin soldiers, and a hobby horse with a carved, painted head and a wheel on the end that he rode around the outside terrace for hours.

###

“If I kiss every inch of you, will I then be forgiven?” he asked, nuzzling behind her ear.

“I cannot be sure. I suppose it depends on how _capable_ you are at kissing.”

“So I am in competition with your previous husband?” He grazed her shoulder with his teeth.

“You mean the one who enjoyed it when I unbuttoned his trousers?”

“I assure you your current husband enjoys it as well.” He kissed along her collarbone and down to her breasts as he slid his fingers up her inner thigh.

“Perhaps we can call a truce.”

“Well then…”

She sighed. “Well then…”

**The Fifth of November, 1827**

_Sanditon_

“Mr Parker, if you could try to refrain from too much movement it would be helpful.”

“How much longer shall it take?” Tom inquired.

“Not long. I simply need to finish your own face in the portrait. The rest I will take from the Rigaud painting. For the background I will do a few studies of Sanditon before I leave.”

“Very good, very good.”

**The Sixth of November, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

The rain had come in earnest. In the weeks before, a few thunderstorms dropped cool, refreshing rain, then flitted out as quickly as they came. Today saw dark, heavy clouds spilling sheets of rain. Abeo left for town and the cobblers when a pause appeared in the drenching. Mr Molyneux needed new soles on a pair of boots. Abeo closed the cobbler’s door and began to walk back up the street when he saw Mathilde near the boulangerie, yes, he was sure it was Mathilde, walking with a French sailor. His heart fell.

He followed them, observing. She did not seem to welcome the sailor’s attention. Abeo sprang towards them. He approached and heard her say, “You will kindly leave me alone, sir.”

“Is there a problem, Miss Crockett?”

“Abeo,” she said, under her breath, for in her private thoughts, he was so. She perceived the small glimmer of pleasure that crossed is face. “This man will not leave me alone.”

Abeo stood between her and the sailor. “The lady wishes you to leave her be.” He knew enough of the language to realize the sailor cursed him. He put up his hands, palms facing out. “Enough. Leave her alone.” He offered his arm to Mathilde, and she took it willingly. They walked away. The sailor followed, continuing to curse. Abeo turned, sweeping his arm back, moving Mathilde behind him. The sailor spat on the ground in front of him.

Abeo’s fist lodged somewhere between the man’s chin and cheekbone, knocking him back and off his feet. “That,” he roared, “is from a former Able Seaman in His Majesty’s Royal Navy.”

He gave Mathilde his arm again. She took it and held it a bit closer this time, all the way back to the manor.


	32. November Winds

**The Twenty-Fourth of November, 1827**

_Sanditon_

“Mr Parker says he will see you shortly, Lord Babington,” said Wickens.

Babington stood at the window in the Trafalgar House sitting room. The place looked normal to him, but of course there were servants to keep appearances up. He had noticed the old portrait of Sidney was missing, as suspected.

“Ah ha! Come to spy on me, have you?”

Babington turned at the sound of Tom Parker’s voice, not sure for a moment what he saw. The man looked nothing less than disheveled; his hair long and unkempt, a week’s worth of whiskers, clothing rumpled, cravat half tied, shirt partially untucked. There was a certain wildness in his eyes Babington had not seen before.

“Mr Parker, Tom, I have come with news from your family.”

“As you can see, they have all deserted me.”

“And your valet as well?”

“Valet? What about my valet?”

“It appears your valet is on holiday judging from your appearance.”

“Wickens!” Tom trumpeted. Shortly after the footman appeared. “Where is my valet?”

“You let him go, sir.”

“I did not.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, you did, ten days ago.”

“Why would I do such a thing? Well, I shall have to see if I can get him back.”

“He has already taken another position, sir.”

Ah, well, no matter. Valets are ten a penny.” He waved his hand impatiently. “You may go.” He turned back to Babington. “So, news you say? What news?”

“First, I have letters, which your family sent to me asking I hand deliver to you. It seems you have not written to anyone, your wife, children, or the rest of your family. They have been concerned for your welfare. Secondly, I wanted you to know your sister, Diana, had a child last month, a girl. Mother and daughter are well. No one knows if you read the letters or not.”

“Yes, yes, I saw something about that. I had more interest in another letter.”

“Ah, from your children up north?”

“No. no, from, believe it or not, Sir Edward Denham, of all people. Such a good friend to Sanditon he was. Pity he had to sell his estate. But he is a very wealthy man now. Coming home in a week or two. Wants to talk business. More than I can say for the likes of you.”

“Tom. Let us sit and discuss this. May I?” He took a seat in a nearby chair without waiting for an answer.

“Oh very well,” said Tom, sitting in the chair across.

“I am aware that Sir Edward is coming back to England. In fact, Sidney saw him and his new wife in Paris. I must advise you not to entangle yourself with him. He cannot be trusted.”

“You have no right to tell me what I may and may not do. It is bad enough Sidney does.”

“I am an investor in the company that saved you from debtor’s prison, and I know exactly what the terms are. And I will be very frank with you Mr Parker, you have had success beyond your wildest dreams here, and you can thank your brother for it. Without him and his savvy with investments, his sensibilities, you would still be under crushing debt and would never be generating the income you are now. He neglected his own business to put you back on your feet.”

“That is simply not true. He’s wealthy. I, on the other hand, see very little income.”

“Everything Sidney has he earned. You seem to forget he forgave a very large debt you owed to him. What, 10,000? Plus he took no profit on his company investment. That means his profit went into your pocket as did your brother Arthur’s. You are given a handsome income, and your debts are being repaid, all with the revenues from Sanditon.”

“Handsome, you say. Ha!”

“Tom, have a hot bath, wash your hair, put on clean clothing. You need a haircut and a shave as well. I can send my valet over to help today until we can find you another. Write your wife, your children, your sister and brothers. They are concerned about you. Then go to Cumberland and spend a few weeks with your sons and Alicia. Forget about Edward Denham. His motives are suspect. And besides, any undertaking regarding Sanditon, any loan you attempt to take, including on Trafalgar House, must be approved by the company. And that contract stands until all the investors are paid back in total. You disregard the contract, you forfeit your property. You know that.”

“Why can you not see reason about the beer hall?”

“Because Sanditon does not need a beer hall. Lady Denham’s bequeathal is to be used for the benefit of Sanditon, not Tom Parker. We are groaning at the seams. We need municipal improvements. We need to make the town safer for the families who live here and those who visit. We can barely take care of the visitors we have now.”

Tom stared blankly into the fireplace.

“Tom, would you care to come have dinner with me and my family this evening?”

“What?”

“Dinner. Would you care to come to dinner?”

“Oh, no, no. I will have something here.”

“All right. Well, here are the letters I promised I would deliver to you. Please read them and respond. I’ll send my valet shortly.”

“No need to do that. Wickens can assist me.”

“I will come by again tomorrow. Oh, by the way. What happened to the portrait in the vestibule?”

“Took it up to Sidney. I’m having one painted of myself.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Wickens will see you out.”

At the door, Babington motioned for Wickens to follow him outside. He took him around the corner. “These letters are for you, from Mary Parker and Sidney Parker. Do not under any circumstances allow Tom Parker to see them or even know you have them. Why did he let the valet go?”

“Mr Parker thought the valet was a spy. Lord Babington, it has been most difficult since Mrs Parker left.”

“I am sure. Well, read the letters, and I will come back tomorrow. Anything you wish for me to know, write it out and slip it to me as I leave. We are trying to solve this.”

“Indeed, I hope so, sir.”

“You are a good man, thank you.”

_Saint-Tropez_

Le Mistral came that morning, blowing strong along the Côte d'Azur, funneled through the mountain ranges. The sky was a brilliant blue, the temperatures cold, but not freezing. Charlotte and Amelia sat together in a small alcove with a window looking out over the garden. The shutters rattled against their tiebacks with each gust.

“That is the day of Adam’s breeching, see? He’s playing on his horse.”

Charlotte held Amelia and Jenny’s diary project on her lap. “My, you give so much detail in your story,” said Charlotte. “I am so proud of you.”

“But Jenny draws it.”

“And so well, too. Do you tell her what to draw?”

“We decide together usually.”

“Oh," she gasped a little. "The baby is kicking very hard.” She took Amelia’s hand and placed it in the right spot.

“Does it feel funny, inside?”

“Ummm. With Jay it did at first, even though I had felt my mother’s belly just like you do here. But now it is familiar to me. It can hurt a bit.” She combed her fingers through Amelia’s thick chestnut curls.

“Did I kick all the time?”

“Not as much as Jay, or this one, if I remember correctly. You and Adam always seemed to be knocking on the door, as if to say, _Hello, may I come out now,_ instead of trying to kick your way out.” She laughed and Amelia giggled, twinkly, like a little music box.

“What will her name be?”

“Well, despite what Papa says, she could be a he. We will not know until the day. But we have not talked too much about names yet.”

“It should begin with a J.”

“Why?”

“Because we are Jay, Amelia and Adam, so we should have another J. And French, a French name.”

“Oh, like Juliette?”

“No, well, maybe. Juliette is nice.”

“Jeanette? Josephine?”

“There is one I read in a storybook, Justine.”

“Justine. That is an English name, too. But what about a boy’s name?”

“I only thought of a girl’s name.”

“It is a pretty name.” Charlotte put her arms around her daughter and kissed the top of her head. Amelia snuggled in as she rocked her. “Papa and I will have to talk about it. We have time yet.”

“It hurts, doesn’t it? When the baby comes out.”

“Yes, it does hurt, but that is all forgotten when it’s over.”

“That’s why Auntie Diana made so much… noise?”

“Yes, most of us do. You were too little to remember when Adam was born, I think.”

“It will be very close to my birthday.”

“It will. Two children born in January.”

“That means I will be five years older.”

“And you will be a very good big sister, just as you are to Adam.”

“But Mama?”

“Yes, my sweet?”

“I hope she is a she. I would like a little sister.”

“But we will love this little one no matter what.”

“When you have more children do you love the older ones less?”

“Of course not, you just grow another spot in your heart for the new one. The older your children are, the more there is to love about them, and the wonderful people they become.”

###

“So if we figure out the transfer from the Sainte-Maxime tartanes to the larger transport ships out of Marseille, it could work quite well.” Sidney had spent the day down at the Boudreau vineyard. He and Étienne were deep in discussions about exporting his wine to Britain. She lay on her side, he on his back, absentmindedly tracing patterns on her belly.

“And does this mean more or less work for you?”

“Once it’s all established, less work and greater profit, especially if I add other vineyards. I won’t have to go in to Town so much. The barrels come in seasonally; we bottle the wine, print the labels. Not only practical, but aesthetic. We have the best glass manufacturing in the world. All the bottles will look the same, be the same quality. Much less risk of going bad or breaking at sea. We can even import the corks from the Var the same time we bring in the wine. There will be an intense period when the bottling goes on, but the family can all come to Town. It won’t be me going in to meet a shipment and rushing back home.” The wind howled and shook the shutters. “Blast that wind. I thought it might blow the carriage off the road. Étienne had not a care. Lived with it his whole life.”

“You think it will work?”

“I do. Would you not be happy if I could move into something that requires less travel to London?”

“Of course I would. But you will still do the old business when we return.”

“For a while, depending on where our finances are then. I promise you, my love, I will not work a day longer than I have to unless it suits all of us.” The baby kicked and turned. “This one is as active as Jay, maybe more.”

“She hears her Papa talking.”

“Clever girl, she is.” He rolled to his side, leaned in and nuzzled her lips and nose. “Are you glad we came?”

“Yes, I am; I truly am. Amelia thought of a name for a girl.”

“Oh?”

“Justine.”

“Justine. It’s lovely.”

“She says we have one J and two A’s so the next must start with a J.”

“She has this peculiar logic that is infallible in a way.”

“Yes. She also asked me if we would love the older children less with a new baby.”

“Oh, I do not like that.”

“No, but I told her we grew a new place in our heart to love the baby, that we only love the older children more as they grow into themselves.”

“Yes, that’s right. Did it satisfy her?”

“Seemed to.”

“Justine. Justine what?”

“How about Justine Louise.”

“Justine Louise Parker. No boy’s name?”

“She insists, as you do, it will, or should be a girl.”

“Boys’ names that start with J. We’ll have to think about it. Just in case, of course.”

“Of course.”


	33. And Now Comes December

**The Fifth of December, 1827**

_The English Channel_

“There they are dearest, the white cliffs of Dover.” Edward Denham guided his wife to the railing of the steamship that sliced through gray, choppy water.

“And from there we go directly to London?” asked Elizabeth.

“Yes, dear wife, we shall rent a carriage and driver and settle at the London townhouse first.”

“And you are certain this is a highly fashionable area?”

“Indeed, Grosvenor Square. I was terribly lucky to secure the lease. The previous tenant reneged on theirs for some reason, and it became available precisely when my agent was looking for a place for us. We will finish the duration of the previous lease, three months, and have an option to negotiate a new lease if we desire.”

“And where are the owners?”

“France, I’m told, on an indefinite stay. A baronet and his wife.”

“Appropriate lodgings for another then.”

“Agreed.”

###

_Saint-Tropez_

Sir Francis Gilbert and his partner in all things, Mr Arthur Parker, lounged on the terrace, reveling in exactly the sort of winter day that kept them on the Côte d'Azur, deep blue skies and warm sunshine, with barely a whisper of a breeze. Francis sorted through the mail. “From the townhouse agent,” he said as he broke the seal. A minute passed. “Ha!”

“What is it?” asked Arthur.

“It seems the tenants had some sort of emergency back in Hanover and broke the lease. Then immediately another party picked it up for the duration with an option for a new one.”

“Well, that seems fine.”

“You will never believe who it is.”

“You have to tell me first in order for me to believe it or not.”

Francis rapped Arthur’s hand with the letter. “I was getting to that, you. It is Lady Esther Babington’s brother, the one Sidney had words with in Paris.”

“Edward Denham? Truly?”

“And his wife.”

“How extraordinary. Where is Sidney?”

“I believe they are on the beach with the children. He has numerous letters here, too. And Mary. One for Charlotte from Alison. No doubt all about Tom.”

“Oh Francis, I do hope we can keep him from the lunatics asylum.”

###

The children orbited their strolling parents like whimsical satellites, running up and down the beach, giggling and squealing, stopping to toss rocks into the water, always finding their way back to Mama and Papa. "May I sea bathe?” asked Jay, panting from all the running.

“No, not today. Look at the water,” his father said. “It may be a warm sunny day, but that is a winter sea. You remember what Francis and Arthur told us about the currents in winter, especially after the Mistral.”

“All right, but may I take my shoes and stockings off and run in the waves.”

“Do not go out far,” said his mother.

Amelia and Adam played tag. Jay had unbuttoned the back of Adam’s skeleton suit so he could remove the jacket, but now nothing held up his trousers. After a few steps, the waist would start to slink down around his little behind, the pants sagging, until finally he performed a contorted wiggle and pulled them back up, a never ending cycle. His parents dissolved into laughter. Charlotte had to hold on to Sidney to steady herself. “What sort of parents allow their children to run about with their bottoms hanging out,” he said, which made them laugh even more.

“I’m sure we do not know them, dear.”

He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her to him as close as he could. “I also doubt we know those two people kissing in front of their children.” He leaned in under her wide brimmed bonnet, nudged her nose with his, breathing her in. She met him, soft-lipped and sensual, and for a moment they forgot where they were. He pressed his forehead to hers. “I propose a siesta when we return.”

“Only if you let me unbutton you.”

“You may always unbutton me.”

“But it may take _some_ time.”

“Do you plan to tease me?”

“Moi?”

“Oui, toi.”

Amelia buttoned Adam’s trousers onto his jacket in the back. “You see, Adam, they are kissing.”

“Why?”

“That’s what they do.”

###

As they walked onto the manor grounds, Francis called over the terrace railing, “Interesting news. Come talk when you can.”

Francis and Arthur took tea. “Shall I pour you a cup?”

“Not for me,” said Charlotte.

“Same,” said Sidney.

“Well, here is a stack of mail for you. There were also a number of posts for Mary. But first, read this.” Francis handed him the agent’s letter.

Charlotte stood next to Sidney and read with him. “How ironic, and with Susan next door,” said Charlotte.

“Yes,” said Francis, “and I will write to her immediately.”

“What better way to keep an eye on him. His wife will be fawning all over her.” Sidney grinned.

“Now, I am sure your letters will not be so enjoyable, but when you are ready, perhaps another family meeting is in order,” said Arthur. “Mary received a bundle, too.”

“Charlotte needs a rest, so perhaps at dinner or after?”

###

“Charlotte needs a rest… blame it on me.”

“Should I have said we need to retire to our room for wild, passionate love while we still can?”

“I do not think they would have batted an eye.”

“Probably not.”

She put her palms against his chest and pushed him over to sit on the bed while she stood before him. “Now, Mr Parker, about those buttons…”

“Hold on, if you plan to tease me, I will take my time with you first.”

He untied the ribbon at the center waist of her dress, unhooked the fasteners that ran down the front. “Now, why cannot all ladies clothing be sensible like this, no fussy buttons and laces down the back.” He went on to the buttons running down the corset.

“These are made for ladies in my condition. One cannot very well nurse a baby when everything opens in the back.”

“But it makes it so much easier for the demanding husband to get to the desired destination.” He slid his hands over her breasts.

“Is that what you think you are, demanding?”

“Aren’t I? Always trying to have my way with you.”

Her fingers laced through his hair as he caressed her with his lips and tongue. “When you _stop_ is the day I will worry.”

He looked up. “Then you will never worry, as that day will never come.”

“Even when I am wrinkled and saggy and snaggletoothed?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “And what do you think I will be then? I have five and a half years on you. You will be pushing me around in a chair. I might not even _function_.”

“It certainly feels you are now.” She ran her fingers across the fall of his breeches.

“I merely wait for your assistance. Will it be five minutes a button?”

“It could be.”

“I have ways of making you want to go faster.”

“By all means, proceed.”

###

After dinner when the children were put to bed, everyone gathered in the sitting room. Babington had confirmed the worst fears that Tom was sinking further into madness, and the brief note from Wickens simply added to the concern. Charles, Henry and James would leave on December 6th, and planned to travel on Sunday to arrive as quickly as possible, ban or no ban. Wickens knew and would have Tom’s trunk packed. They would get him up to Cumberland if they had to tie him down to do it. Sidney received a reply from the York Retreat and it appeared possible they could evaluate and even accept another patient sometime in the new year.

“Mary,” said Arthur, “I would be happy to accompany you home if you wish to leave earlier. If we take a Diligence coach we can be in Calais in a week. We’ll simply need to get out passports in order and pack lightly.”

“Oh, Arthur, thank you. I hope it does not come to that, but it is a comfort to know.”

“Would I go with you or stay here?” asked Jenny.

“It would be best if you stayed and returned with your aunt and uncle,” Mary said.

“The Diligence coach is not the most comfortable, Jenny. It travels day and night, and it’s always packed full of people,” said Francis.

“I suppose there would be nothing I could do anyway,” Jenny said, half to herself.

###

**The Seventh of December, 1827**

_London_

“Sir Edward, even four years ago we might have considered, but Sanditon is _the_ summer town. We could not possibly let go of Denham Place now.”

“Really?” said Edward. “Sanditon is that popular?”

“Indeed, it is,” said the second man. “We have parties reserving our property six, even eight months ahead of time. It is quite lucrative.”

“Forgive me, I have been abroad for eight years now. What is the draw, may I ask?”

“The ladies sale kicks it all off. It was the biggest ever this year,” said the first man.

“Had a bit of trouble, though,” said the second man.

“Yes, we rented to a group of, shall we say, _rowdy_ men who ran into the crosshairs of Mr Parker. He had words with us as well.”

“Parker. Tom Parker?”

Both men laughed. “Good God, no, man, not him. He’s a bit of a buffoon. No, his brother, Sidney Parker. Mr Sanditon himself.”

“Babington runs a close second,” said the other.

“True.”

“Wait,” said Edward, “Sidney Parker and Lord Babington run the town of Sanditon?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“I see. And there is no amount I could offer that would tempt you to sell Denham Place back to me?”

“Well, certainly there is an amount, Sir Edward, but I doubt you would care to pay it.”

###

“It will be a simple business trip, Elizabeth. I will be staying at the ghastly Crown Hotel, which is no place for a lady such as you. You go shopping and amuse yourself. I will return no later than Monday.”

“I do not like it Edward. I hope I need not remind you of the agreement you have with my father.”

“Yes, dearest, and I am endeavoring to uphold it.”


	34. The Endeavors of Edward

**The Seventh of December, 1827**

_On the Road to Sanditon_

The sounds of carriage wheels and horse hooves gave welcome respite to Sir Edward Denham. If he had to listen to Elizabeth a moment longer he thought he might go mad. The incessant whining about London society and her daddy’s money. At times he believed he truly sold his soul when he married her, and despite what most people from his past may have thought of him, he did have one…somewhere.

The plan to buy Denham Place back did not go as he had expected. He had hoped the two men would take 10, but their price of 35 was beyond anything he could muster up. He sold it for 7,000 back in ’19, having been strapped for cash and racking up debt in London. He should have asked for more, but the two men were shrewd, saw the leaking roof and prevalent shabbiness. He had no choice, and the blame for that rested squarely on Clara Brereton now Crowe’s blonde head, but he would deal with her later, perhaps even with Esther’s help. He most surely did not believe she and Clara were friends as Esther asserted in a letter.

Right now, he needed to give his dear wife an ancestral home to appease Daddy and keep the funds coming. He wanted people to think he was wealthy, but that was not the case. Elizabeth’s father was very much alive and held all the purse strings. The bulk of the inheritance would pass to her brother when the old man finally kicked the bucket. He and Elizabeth were on a monthly allowance, and an additional lump sum would be granted once Edward fulfilled the bargain, including the ancestral home for Daddy’s little girl, her head filled with fantasies conjured from ladies’ novels about the life of a Lady in an English manor house.

He found it curious that Esther never mentioned Sanditon’s success. The few letters she had written consisted mostly of how _happy_ she was with her Lord Babington, a real man, she called him. Edward viewed her assertions to be along the lines of the lady protesting too much. He knew her well enough to surmise she wasn’t entirely happy, or so he wished to think.

And now he found himself on the familiar road to Sanditon, remembering all the days he spent there with his Uncle Harry and first wife, the half dead one, who longed for the pitter patter of little feet, since they had no children to pitter patter about. Edward’s father was only too happy to send his son off to his older brother’s house. Harry, as first son, inherited the title, all the money, and Denham Place, and he could take care of his only nephew as well as far as Edward’s father was concerned.

When Uncle Harry’s half dead wife became fully dead, Harry married his neighbor, Mrs Hollis, a widow, and a wealthy one at that. He moved to her estate with its large manor, Sanditon House, where Edward and Esther spent many happy hours of their later childhood. Neglect befell Denham Place, but Harry did not seem to notice. He was quite old, and the new Lady Denham a bit crass and pushy. In some ways, Edward’s own _dear wife_ reminded him of the late Lady Denham she now replaced. 

Reginald, the second son and Edward’s father, inherited nothing, so he was tasked to marry well, which he did. Edward’s mother came with a modest fortune, and had his father not squandered it through gambling, whores, and poor investments, there might have been something left over for Edward. Not long after his mother died delivering a stillborn, his father married Esther’s mother, a widow with her own modest fortune, which again his father squandered. She died first, then he. All that was left for Edward to inherit was debt. Mountains of it. He had to sell the family home to pay it all off, leaving the small inheritance Edward received from his mother’s brother as the only income for him and Esther to live on. When Harry passed a year later with no heir, all should have gone to Edward, but Lady Denham, the former Mrs Hollis, convinced Sir Harry to enter into a settlement upon their marriage that disavowed primogeniture, and the entire fortune was left to her. Only Harry’s title and Denham Place went to Edward.

He sighed and looked out the window. Besides needing to remove himself from the endless tedium of Elizabeth’s dullness, he truly felt curious about the town. Ultimately his eye was on Sanditon House. If he couldn’t have Denham Place, he would shoot for the moon. Certainly the buffoon, Tom Parker, could be finessed into divulging some piece of relevant information.

He was impressed as the carriage pulled into town. So much development, so very well done. The promenade, the terraces. Even in December, people milled about, most definitely not locals. “Storm watchers.” This was a whole new world. Even the dastardly old Crown Hotel had been given a lift. The rooms weren’t bad and the tavern looked marginally respectable. Well, Edward, tomorrow was another day.

**The Eighth of December, 1827**

_Sanditon_

“Brilliant, is it not!” Tom crowed.

“Ummm… Yes, a very good likeness. But I am certain I’ve seen this somewhere before.” Edward stood before Tom’s new portrait.

“Of course you have; it is the Admiral as Tom Parker, the master of Trafalgar House! And in the background, we have Sanditon.”

“I see.” _Surely the man is a lunatic_ , Edward thought. _And he seems to be without a valet. What a disaster he is._

“Well. Well, come in. Tea? Port?” asked Tom as he motioned Edward into the sitting room.

“Nothing presently, but thank you.” The footman hovered about the doorway.

“You may _leave_ , Wickens,” commanded Tom. “Now tell me,” he said to Edward, “how have you been all these years?”

Sir Edward Denham wove his spell about his days in America, his new found prosperity, his _lovely_ wife.

“And you wish to invest in Sanditon? I have plans for a fine beer hall, but the bracket-faced Babington will not have it.”

 _Perfect._ “Lord Babington? Why would he have a say?”

“He oversees the late Lady Denham’s bequeathment to Sanditon. And he’s one of the damnable company investors.”

“Tell me all about this. I must confess; I know nothing of it.”

“The damn company! All Sidney’s doing when he refused to marry the beautiful _and rich_ Eliza. No, he had to marry Charlotte, the simple country girl with eleven siblings. No money there.”

“But I thought Sidney was well off on his own. Certainly he did not need to marry for money. And I must say, I did see them in Paris, and Charlotte is… well, quite a beauty. Your brother appeared most… protective of her.” He unconsciously straightened his lapels. “But what does this company do?”

“Oh, I do not wish to talk about the company. They are being repaid, and the buildings are long ago completed. It’s Babington who is the problem now.”

“Tell me about Lady Denham’s will. This bequeathment you speak of.”

“Everything left for the benefit of Sanditon town and her asses. Can you imagine? A fortune left to asses!”

 _Exactly as the first was_ , Edward thought. “But why does Babington have a say over this? Was it specified in the will?”

“Yes, yes. The insufferable old woman’s specific request that he manage it.”

“But Sanditon _House_ was left to Lady Babington, I understand.”

“Yes, indirectly if I remember.”

“Meaning?” _Now we get to it_.

“Something about being hers until her first son comes of age, the Denham heir. I cannot be sure.”

“You saw the will.”

“Briefly, yes.”

“And it specified a _Denham heir_?”

“I cannot be sure. Something of that nature. It was of no concern to me.”

“Do you happen to know the name of the solicitor who drew it up?”

“Good heavens, no. How would I know that?”

“Ah, no matter. Are the Babingtons at Sanditon House now?”

“Not sure. Have not seen him in a week or so. But now, Sir Edward, let us get to the point. Are you willing to invest in Sanditon?”

 _Careful, Edward. He is rather unstable_. “Ahhh, not at the present time. We’ve just arrived, you see. I haven’t even retained a solicitor yet. Perhaps in the future. But with all these buildings you own, could you not take a loan for your _beer hall_?”

“No, no. That is restricted by the company. I have my hands and feet bound there.”

“If I may ask, why?”

“The contract. I cannot take any loans against property they had any financial involvement in.”

“Not even this one, Trafalgar House?”

“No, they paid those debts off.”

“Surely you must have some property they have no hold over?” He sincerely meant to help the foolish fellow out by this time.

“Hmmm, no, a few plots of land, not valuable enough to use as collateral.”

“What about the old Parker House. Isn’t that yours?”

“Sold it to Sidney years ago.”

“I see.” He pondered the wreck of a man before him. “You have a London family home, though, do you not?”

Tom awoke from his stupor. His eyes lit up and a semblance of coherency came upon his face. “Of course! The company had no dealings with Bedford Place. I never thought of that. Sidney handles all the affairs there. Pays everything.”

“But _you_ own it?”

“Indeed, I do own it. Outright inherited it from my father.”

“Then you need no permission from him. Sounds as if you might have your beer hall after all.”

Tom resembled a windup automaton now, whirring away, moving in staccato fits and starts. “Well, Sir Edward. It was lovely to see you. Allow me to escort you out.”

When the door closed, Edward heard Tom bellow inside, “Wickens!”

Wickens appeared. _He seems terribly nervous these days_ , Tom thought. “I will be heading to London. Pack my trunk please.”

“Sir, it is Saturday afternoon. Your sons and Mr Copeland will arrive very soon. They are expecting to see you, sir.”

“What are you talking about, Wickens?”

“Master Henry and James, sir, they are on their way from up north, remember? It has been planned for weeks now. You have not seen your sons in four months now, sir. They will be terribly disappointed if you are not here to greet them.”

Tom stared at him.

“Sir?” A chill passed through Wickens. Was he about to be found out?

“You seem very nervous these days, Wickens.”

“In truth, sir, it is only that we are a little understaffed.”

“Why ever are we understaffed?”

“Because you have dismissed servants, sir. We do hope to have a valet for you soon, sir.” He was desperate to change the subject. “Your sons will be so very glad to see you! And Mrs Parker will be home in two months or so.”

“Well, I suppose I should wait for them to arrive. Is it time for dinner yet?”

“Not yet, sir. Shall I have some sandwiches and tea sent to you?

“Fine. I will be in my study.” He turned and walked in that direction. Wickens exhaled and wiped his brow.

###

Edward walked out to Sanditon House that afternoon. Curiosity, he told himself. The occupants did not seem to be at home. It would make sense they were in London now, with all the festivities of the season. He would find out from his solicitor, when he retained one, exactly what was in the wretched old woman’s will. What he must do now is appease Elizabeth. The things he did for money.

**The Ninth of December, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

From the guest house terrace, Georgiana and Otis had a glimpse of the beach at the inlet below. They watched as Offiah and Crockett came into view, walking arm in arm on their Sunday afternoon leisure time.

“What if they decide to marry?” Otis asked.

“Has he mentioned that to you?”

“He barely mentions anything about her. I had to broach the subject first.”

“Yes, they are a bit secretive, but I suppose they are concerned we will not approve. If they marry, can they not still work for us?”

“What if they do not wish to? Can you give up Crockett? Or what if they do and she has a child?”

“I suppose I will have to give her up, or accept her with a child. She has been with me for nearly eighteen years now, but things change, do they not? She asked for permission to remove her headwrap in public, and buy new dresses for herself.”

“She was your slave. Old habits are difficult to overcome.”

“But it does my heart good to see her so happy. I hope he isn’t just a sweet talker.”

“He is a good man. What his intentions are, I am not sure. Is it my business to ask?”

“No. Neither of us should ask.”

“My point. I suppose we simply wait and see.”

“And let them enjoy themselves.” She gave him a sly grin.


	35. And the Days Linger On

**The Eleventh of December, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

At last, Diana’s piano had arrived, an Erard five octave square piano, its exquisite cabinet constructed of mahogany bordered with satinwood, made in Paris in 1793. From Marseille, it went aboard a tartane to Sainte-Maxime, then by wagon to Saint-Tropez. Francis brought in a piano tuner all the way from Toulon. There was nothing he would not do to bring joy to Diana, as it was she who made his and Arthur’s happiness possible.

With Isabelle seven weeks old, Diana felt secure in bringing her down to the sitting room or out on the terrace if the day was warm. At Charlotte’s urging, Diana had declined the physician’s recommendation of laudanum for her postpartum pains, opting instead for the teas and tinctures from the midwives. She was quite herself again, more content than ever with Étienne, walking on the beach, having dinner with the family, and today, filling the house with music, Isabelle in her Moses basket on a chair beside her. Amelia perched on the bench next to her, listening and turning pages as she waited for her lesson.

Charlotte stole into the room, kissed Amelia on the head and whispered into her ear, “Papa and I are leaving for town. We’ll be back in a few hours. Be good.”

Amelia turned and wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck. “Are you going to buy presents?” she whispered back.

“Maybe.”

“I will be good.”

“I know you will.” She kissed Amelia on her nose and lightly embraced Diana about her shoulders.

“Are you certain you wish to walk?” asked Sidney when she came outside.

“It will do me good. Maybe put this one to sleep for a while.”

They ambled slowly down the sand-covered drive. He kept one arm around her to keep her steady and gave his other hand for her to hold. “Otis told me something interesting this morning, before you came down.”

“Oh?”

“How would you like to take a steamship back home?”

“Now?”

“ _No_ ,” he squeezed her hand playfully, “when the time comes. Some packet ships from Marseille to Southampton are running a few steamers. Takes about three weeks or so, a bit longer than by land, but it has its advantages.”

“It would be nice to have the same room for the entire trip, especially with a newborn.”

“My thoughts exactly. They are very small, but complete with linens and washbasins. And no sitting for hours on end in a coach. We can walk about the ship.”

“Do they allow the passengers to visit the ports where the ship stops along the way?”

“I’m not sure, but it would add interest. We would follow along the Spanish, Portuguese and French coasts.”

“What of all our other luggage?”

“It can be sent back across land as it was to get here.”

“I suppose we could leave a bit sooner, since I would be able to rest during the day if I needed to.”

“We’d have to go by carriage to Marseille, but after that, yes.”

“Fine idea, Mr Parker.”

“Thank Otis, he read of it in one of his maritime journals."

Once they finished navigating the sandy slope and arrived on the road, she took his arm and they continued in a regular fashion. “So strange it is. This is our first Christmas together somewhere other than London.”

“Yes, Amelia told me she was missing Susan,” Sidney said.

“I am as well.”

“It’s a new experience for all of us. A good one, I believe.” They walked for a time and then he laughed to himself.

“What?”

“Oh, I was thinking about our very first Christmas together, at Bedford Place with Tom and Mary and the children.”

“Newlyweds.” She bumped him. “You were insatiable.”

“Me? That morning was all your doing, Mrs Parker.”

“ _Run along, Henry, Aunt Charlotte and I are wrestling_ ,” she said in her best Sidney Parker voice.

“I believe I was a bit more breathless,” he said, both of them laughing now, “but we remembered to lock doors after that.”

When finally composed, she said, “He wasn’t much older than Adam is now. I hope he does not remember.”

He looked at her with his roguish grin. “We haven’t done _that_ for some time.”

She looked up at him. “What?”

He raised his eyebrows and looked forward, still grinning.

She patted her burgeoning belly. “Allow me to introduce you to your fourth child.”

“I know, I know, but it’s on my list of things to do in March.”

###

**The Twelfth of December, 1827**

_Sanditon_

Despite being prepared by Lord Babington, the sight of Tom Parker was a shock for the boys, and for Charles. Moving Tom from Trafalgar House and into the carriage was a tedious and delicate process, two steps forward, one step back, but eventually after an extra day and with the help of the footman, Wickens, they managed.

Tom reminded Charles of a horse that had been broken using fear instead of kindness. From that moment on, he determined his approach to Tom would be the same. Show him kindness, keep him calm, earn his trust. Tom prattled on about his beer hall plans as the carriage with the four of them left Sanditon.

“But Father,” said Henry, “beer halls are German, not English.”

“Why should that matter? Our very own Royal Family has Germanic roots. Hanover, may I remind you.”

“Tell us about it, Tom,” said Charles, “would visitors to your beer hall have pork roast and cabbage, or schnitzel?”

At first the boys did not understand why Charles was letting their father indulge in his fantasy, but as Tom worked his way deeper into the project, the less tantalizing and more tiresome it became as Charles gently steered him to discuss the details. And how would you go about opening a brewery? What does it require? What about workers? Supplies? He asked not in an accusatory way, but a solicitous and curious one. Within an hour or so, Tom became quiet.

After a time, Tom asked Henry and James how they were enjoying their stay up north. Had they heard from their mother? He began to carry on the conversation he should have had when they first arrived. Charles sat back and watched, thinking he may have stumbled upon something important.

When he later explained his thinking to Alison, she ran her fingers through his copper curls and said, "This is one of the many reasons why I love you, Charles Copeland."

**The Seventeenth of December, 1827**

_London_

“Let me see if I understand this correctly," said Sir Edward Denham to his new solicitor, “Sanditon House is held in a trust overseen by Lady Babington. It is not hers directly, nor is it Lord Babington’s.”

“That is correct. It seems the late Lady Denham wished to keep the house in the Denham family. If Lady Babington passed away and Lord Babington remarried, Sanditon House could not be inherited by the new wife, should she be widowed, nor any children born from that marriage.”

“And does the will specifically state this Denham heir must be Lady Babington’s child?”

“It does not, although I am told by the solicitor that was the understanding, and of course, Lady Babington has three children now, two sons and a daughter.”

“They are not Denham blood, however. My father was not Esther’s father. He gave her his name when he married her mother. I am not even certain it was a legal adoption.”

“All good points.”

“And nowhere in the will is there mention that I am disowned?”

“No, sir, you are not mentioned at all.”

“So how would I stand to take this to court? If it was intended to pass to a Denham heir, I am the only true one.”

“But you say she disowned you.”

“She was recovering from near death. She was angry. My step-sister had told lies about me. And as you say, the late Lady Denham did not put it in writing.”

“Not that I know of, but that does not mean it does not exist. I could dig a little deeper for you, Sir Edward, if that is what you wish.”

“It is. It most certainly is.”

**The Eighteenth of December, 1827**

_Cumberland, Near Carlisle_

“What do you think, Father?” Henry asked. “Will you come riding with us?”

“I have not ridden in years,” Tom said.

“All the more reason to get back into a saddle,” said Charles. “Come on, Tom. Ride with us. Darra’s a gentle horse, but she’s strong and sure.” The groom stood holding the reins to a grey Irish Draught horse.

“She’s my favorite, Father,” said James, “for all around riding.”

“Promise you will not laugh at me,” said Tom.

“Ah, Tom. We won’t laugh at you, but we might laugh _with_ you.”

“Very well. Can I get a hand?” The groom assisted and up Tom went. “Go easy on me fellows, until I find my bearings.”

“That is just what we would like you to do, Father,” said Henry, half to himself, “find your bearings.”

###

_London_

Esther looked up from the letter she composed. “Yes?”

“A visitor, Lady Babington.” The footman approached with a card on a silver salver.

She picked it up, tore it in half, and placed on back on the salver. “Return the card. Inform the visitor that I have no wish to see him, ever. Use those exact words.”

“Yes, Lady Babington.”

 _How did he know Babington was not here?_ She left her private sitting room and went to a window in front overlooking the street. Shortly after, Edward emerged. He looked up directly at her, as if he knew she were there. She gasped and pulled away from the window, but not so far that she could not see him. He took off his hat and bowed deeply, then placed it back on his head and blew her a kiss.


	36. 'Tis the Season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the great responses and support. Sorry this chapter was a little delayed.

**The Twenty-First of December, 1827**

_London_

“The late Lady Denham’s solicitor has no knowledge of any document in which you are mentioned, Sir Edward. Additionally, I can find no papers of adoption filed by your late father, Reginald Denham, regarding your step-sister. Do you recall seeing such papers among your father’s effects, or have any memories of an adoption occurring?”

“I do not. I was very young, of course, when my father remarried, but I have no memory of an adoption, which prompted me to mention it.” He paused and steepled his fingers. “How shall we proceed?”

“Providing no other information of vital import surfaces, you might stand a fair chance in court. Lord Babington is a peer, of course, and that could sway the situation in his wife’s favor, in particular with these falsehoods you claim she told your aunt. Did you, in fact, destroy the first will?”

“I was in the room when my aunt’s poor relation, Miss Brereton, did so.”

“We would need to locate this Miss Brereton, and she would be compelled to testify. These proceedings can take twists and turns one does not expect, and the outcome might not be what you hope for. My recommendation would be you first attempt to settle with Lady Babington. A court proceeding should be your last resort.”

_Cumberland, Near Carlisle_

“Tom, would you watch Janie for a spell?” asked Alison.

“I am in the middle of working on plans, I simply haven’t…”

“Here you are; she shows quite an attachment to you, I think.” Alison set Jane in Tom’s lap and hurried from the room. “Surely you have a nanny for this,” he called after her.

The little girl, now seven months old, looked up at Tom with her big brown Heywood eyes and smiled. “Oh hello there,” said Tom. “Pretty little thing you are.” Jane reached up and patted his face. He fluffed her chestnut curls. She cooed and smiled. Tom forgot his plans, at least for the moment.

###

_London_

Lady Susan Worcester eyed the card on the salver. Heavens, the second time this woman called. Apparently she had no one to explain to her the intricacies of London society and manners. Even without Francis’s letter, Susan would have been wary. Well, it was Christmas, after all, and Francis did ask her to keep an eye on the two. “Show her to the sitting room. I will be there shortly.”

Susan’s visitor was admiring the landscape painting over the fireplace. Gigot sleeves were quite en vogue, but hers were larger than any Susan had seen previously, all but swallowing up the woman who wore them.

“Lady Denham,” Susan said.

She turned, “Lady Worcester, so pleased to finally meet you.”

Susan motioned to a chair, then took the one next to it. “I understand you are new to London.”

“Yes, I am, from New York, recently married to an Englishman.”

“I see. And are you visiting, or will your stay be longer?”

“We hope to stay permanently.”

“In London?”

Now Elizabeth told her tale of lost ancestral homes and the struggle to regain, of her hopes to be a Lady of the Manor.

“Have you been to Sanditon?” asked Susan.

“No, not yet.”

“It is a quaint little seaside town, busy in the summer, quiet in the winter. A fishing village that has become a summer resort. I am not entirely certain that is what you had in mind for your manor. There are many lovely places that offer country life without the flux of temporary visitors, and within closer proximity to London.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Are you enjoying London so far?”

“I find it somewhat confusing, I must confess. The rules of society are different than in my home country.”

“Ah, any of the newspaper society columns or the Monthly Magazine could apprise you of the ins and outs. You will find Sir Francis’s butler and housekeeper to have a wealth of information. You need only to ask. And no doubt your husband could assist.”

After a few more minutes of conversation, Susan made her excuses and rang for the footman to escort Lady Denham out.

###

Esther recognized the handwriting and hesitated to break the seal. She set it aside for a moment. How utterly vexing to have Edward crawl back into her life. She never should have responded to his letters. She would have to tell Babington when he returned that afternoon. She could not risk any further mistrust on his part. She smoothed and rubbed where her fourth child poked and turned, stretched her back, steeled herself and opened the letter.

_20 December_

_My Dearest Sister,_

_How broken my heart was when you refused to see me. After all these years, have you not forgiven me?_

_Although my intent was to advise you of the following in person, you force me to do so here. Simply put, I desire Sanditon House. I have been informed by my solicitor as to the content of our late aunt’s will, and I know neither you nor your husband may lay claim to it, that it is held in trust for a Denham heir. And as you know, dear Esther, I am the only true Denham heir. You, and therefore your children, have no Denham blood, and no legal claim to the name, as my father did not lawfully adopt you._

_To show my good faith, I am also willing to offer a cash settlement. If you refuse, I will be compelled to begin court proceedings, which my solicitor informs me would be a very strong case. Clara Brereton Crowe, your dear friend, would be compelled to publicly acknowledge her part in all that transpired in May 1819, including what occurred on a certain drawing room floor, as would you be compelled to publicly admit your past relationship with me._

_Surely we can reach an agreement? I will contact you again after Christmastide. Should you wish to correspond sooner, you have my address._

_Fondest regards,_

_Edward_

###

“It is utter nonsense,” said Babington. “Her intentions were very clear. Sanditon House will be Anthony’s when he comes of age. Edward is bluffing. He has no case. Besides, she disowned him.”

“But she makes no mention of that in the will, only that the house is to be held in trust for a Denham heir.”

“Why would he want the house? He sold Denham Place. That alone is evidence that he wished to have no ties to Sanditon.”

Esther knew if she mentioned Edward’s wife and her Paris lament to Mary about Edward being _forced_ to sell his ancestral home, she would reveal she read Sidney’s second letter, which in turn would reveal Babington hid it from her. “Perhaps it is his wife? She married him for the title, is that not what Sidney said in his letter from Paris?”

“Yes, a marriage of convenience, money for him, title for her. So why does he not simply buy back Denham Place?”

“Perhaps they will not sell. It appears to be a rather lucrative enterprise for them.”

“We will do nothing about this for now. Let him make his move. I do not believe he has the nerve to bring it to court. Crowe and the family are at the country estate with his mother. We’ll discuss it upon their return.” He tossed the letter onto the table and scooped Esther into his arms, kissing her softly at first, then with an almost ferocious passion. “You need not worry, my dearest Esther. I told you long ago I would not permit your brother to make a victim of you. Nothing has changed. I will not allow him anywhere near you or our children or our lives. I promise you.”

**The Twenty-Fourth of December, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

For Christmas Eve, with the Boudreau family joining them, the English families living in the bright orange and yellow compound overlooking the Gulf of Grimaud would blend their own traditions with the Provençal celebration _the Gros Soupa,_ or Great Supper, Midnight Mass, and afterward, _les treize desserts de Noël_ , the thirteen desserts. That morning, the children gathered greenery for the house: boughs of cedar, yew, and hemlock, along with cotoneaster and its bright red orange berries and holly. Francis and Arthur brought out the large oak log they had put aside months ago for the Yule log, along with a small piece from last year’s log to start the fire.

Jay spent hours in the kitchen, enthralled in Madame Gravier’s preparations, especially the bûche de Noël, a spectacular dessert made to resemble a tree log, a rolled, filled sponge cake, frosted with chocolate buttercream as tree bark, topped with meringue mushrooms, and holly sprigs of colored marzipan. Jenny sat quietly in a corner, sketching the two as Jay stood on his milking stool spreading the icing. Everyone else had taken a lie down to be rested for the late night ahead. Nanny Grey insisted he leave, and Madame shooed him out with a wink and a meringue mushroom and one for Jenny, too.

At eight o’clock, the children celebrated the arrival of _Old Father Christmas_ , ringing bells and banging on drums. The adults helped the little ones to light the Yule log, or cacho fio in Provence, and all but the littlest ones had mulled wine. Diana played her piano as carols were sung, _Apples and Oranges_ , _The First Noel_ , and _God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen._

The table was set with three white tablecloths representing the Holy Trinity, each arranged so the one below was visible. Three candles were placed for the past, present and future: memory of loved ones deceased, loyalty to friends and family, and for children yet to be born. On the table, three bowls of germinated wheat, planted on December 4th, St. Barbara’s Day, would bring prosperity for the coming year. Seven light, meatless dishes of fish and vegetables were served all at once, the number symbolizing the seven sorrows of the Virgin Mary. Escargot, _L’argo bouido_ , a garlic soup, _brandade de morue_ , made from dried cod and potatoes, scallops, aioli with vegetables, and poached mullet.

When the hour approached, they took the carriages into town, with women and children inside and the men riding atop. At the Eglise Notre Dame de l'Assomption, a newer church in the Italian baroque style with a bright ochre and sienna bell tower, they viewed the Nativity scene created that morning, a tiny replica of the town with buildings, landscapes and little clay figurines of people and animals, called santons. And most important of all, the crèche with the Holy Family. Amelia was transfixed by the little scene, built with pebbles, sticks and greenery. Étienne explained the history to her, of why the people of Provence put the scenes in their homes and churches every year.

Inside, the church was aglow with hundreds of candles and filled to its limits with townspeople. The Mass was long, with processions and incense and singing. Adam slept in Arthur’s arms, as did Georgie in his father’s. Amelia tried to stay awake but eventually dozed on her father’s chest. Her mother reached over and tucked her curls behind her ear. She looked at her husband and they both smiled. No words were needed.

When they arrived back home, almost as payment for their piety, the side table was set with the thirteen desserts symbolizing Christ and the twelve apostles. _Les quartre mendicants_ : figs, raisins, walnuts, and almonds. Fougasse, a bread to be torn apart and eaten with grape jam. White and black nougat with nuts and caramelized honey. Marzipan candies, quince paste, different types of biscuits with fennel and anise seed, fruit tourtes, dates stuffed with marzipan, and the bûche de Noël.

The littlest ones went directly to bed, but no matter, tradition was for the desserts to stay out for three days. All the servants had been given their leave, so Jay cut the bûche de Noël as Madame had instructed him. With full stomachs, they all rolled contentedly into their beds.

**The Twenty-fifth of December, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

All slept late. A small breakfast was served, followed by a mid-day meal of roast goose with chestnut stuffing. The children received one or two small gifts, and the adults, by agreement, simply enjoyed each other’s love and company. Jay watched as Jenny finished her special drawing, adding the watercolors. “I will pay you for it someday, Jenny,” he said.

“You owe me nothing, cousin. You have already paid me. Had you not convinced me to show my drawings to Mr Bonington, he never would have sent me the treasure box of supplies.”

_Cumberland, Near Carlisle_

Tom Parker experienced a pang of… _guilt?_ Alison and Charles were most generous to him and his children, with gifts and glorious meals, not to mention having the three as guests for five months now. Mary and Jenny sent long letters of love and caring; Jenny’s filled with her watercolor drawings. Alicia had embroidered a pair of slippers for him, and the boys gave him a fine white silk cravat. He, in turn, had nothing for anyone. He had written no letters, made no effort, and for the life of him, he knew not why.

_London_

“I have a surprise gift for you my dear Edward,” said Elizabeth that morning.

“And what is it,” he replied, not looking up from his newspaper.

“You have fulfilled one part of the agreement with my father.”

“Oh?” Now he gave her a glance. “And?”

“Edward, I am to have a child.”

Now his attention lay full on her. “Truly?”

“Yes. Are you not happy?”

He opened his mouth and closed it. Was he happy? He had to think for a moment. He did not love his wife, but he did not dislike her. And the prospect of a child, well… “Yes, I believe I am happy.” He rose from his chair and went to her, leaning over and kissing her forehead. “That is rather _good_ news.”

“And Edward, I have been thinking, perhaps we should purchase a manor house in the country nearer London. I understand Sanditon might not be ideal for our needs.”

“Not your previous stance, my dear. I am working to give you the grandest house in the entire county.”

“My father would never know if it had been in your family or not. He knows only what I tell him. He cares for my happiness; that is all. Surely we could be happy in a place other than Sanditon?”

“It’s the principle. That old woman robbed me of what was mine in the first place, and now my step-sister tries to do the same. I will have that house.”

“It is not necessary Edward.”

“It is to me.”

**The Twenty-Sixth of December, 1827**

_Saint-Tropez_

Jay made his way to the kitchen in the morning. Madame Gravier tended the fire, as she always did. He had one hand hidden behind his back, approaching her shyly. “Bonjour,” she said.

“Bonjour. Pour vous.” He handed her the drawing of the two of them, huddled over the work table and the bûche de Noël, where he looked up into her face with a smile, and she looked proudly down at him. Underneath he had written, _Pour Madame Gravier de votre ami, Jay Parker 1827_. Jenny had signed it in the corner.

Her old hand shook and tears came to her eyes. “Ah, magnifique! Merci! Un trésor!”

He reached up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She would never forget this little English boy, who came to her kitchen every morning at six chimes of the clock, and fetched water or ground coffee, who helped her with the canning and learned to make brioche and omelets. No, she would never forget him. And he would never forget her.

###

The servants were all given the day off after breakfast, but first they received their boxes of gifts from their appreciative employers, who also made generous donations to the charities who served the needy.

Abeo and Mathilde strolled through the town and took a seat on a bench in a shady square. “We are agreed, then?” he asked her.

“We are. We will return to England first, and work one more year for the Molyneuxs.”

“As husband and wife.”

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes smiling at him as she placed her hand atop his in a gentle embrace. "As husband and wife."


	37. Hubris and a Fatal Flaw

**The Seventh of January, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

The greenery in the house had been taken down and burned as was the custom. Christmastide was over.

A flood of letters began arriving. First from Alison for both Mary and Charlotte, with cautiously good news about Tom. Away from Sanditon, he seemed to inhabit a less agitated state. At first Charles listened to Tom’s ramblings, subtly encouraging him to delve deeper. Eventually Tom would stop when the imaginary went from entertaining to tedious. Unlike Sidney and Arthur, Charles had no real history with Tom; there were no lifelong provocations and reactions, no old battle wounds, no simmering resentments for Tom to dredge up. Nothing to feed Tom’s demons, and so they starved. He was able to carry on a conversation that did not include Sanditon. He asked others questions. He appeared to listen when they spoke.

“Let’s go riding,” someone would say. And off they would go together or in any combination of Tom with Charles, Alison, Alicia, Henry, James, and even little Margaret who was nearly Jay’s age. The boys insisted Tom tack up his horse and untack, just as they did. 

“There are grooms for that!” Tom snapped the first time.

“Up here, we all take care of the horse we ride," said Henry. "The grooms are always busy, Father. This is a stud farm. Charles breeds horses, for the King, even!”

“Oh, very well,” huffed Tom. Darra would nuzzle him with her soft nose and began to call greetings to him when he came into the stable. Soon Tom enjoyed the grooming and tacking up. What all those around him observed was the state of quietude that followed.

It was anyone’s guess how long his equanimity would last, or if it could continue once he returned to Sanditon. Still, everyone in the family on the Côte d'Azur, most especially Mary and Jenny, experienced overwhelming relief that Tom appeared safe and even sane for now.

Babington’s letter to Sidney did not meet with similar reception. “Edward is determined to have Sanditon House,” Sidney told Charlotte when she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“But it is Anthony’s once he comes of age.” She began reading the letter he held.

“Edward found some ambiguity in the wording of the will and is threatening legal proceedings.”

“Poor Esther and Clara,” she said when she finished. “At least he seems to have done no harm to Tom.”

“I believe they removed him soon enough. But I do not understand why Edward would want to live in Sanditon. He detests the place. He has no friends or family there.” He turned his head and nestled into her cheek and neck, then pulled her around and down onto his lap. For a moment they both looked out over the sea as it sparkled in the warm sun. He placed his open hand over her belly and brushed his lips across her neck under her ear. “How are you feeling?”

“Ready to burst. I’m waddling now.”

He laughed softly into her neck. “I noticed. It’s an endearing waddle, nonetheless. What can I do? Back? Neck? Feet?”

“All of them.”

“I believe that requires moving to a _better_ place. Where are the children?”

“With Nanny.”

“How fortunate. Would you care to waddle upstairs with me?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Be careful, or I will have you carry me up.”

“Your wish is my command.” Slipping his arm under her knees with the other around her back, he stood. “Hold on.” She laughed as he strode off the terrace and into the house, making great show of looking about, stealthily heading to the stairs, taking them two at a time, into their room where he pushed the door closed with his foot, then over to the bed where he sat again with her in his lap. “There you are. No waddling necessary.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, still giggling a little. She paused, and an emotion crossed her face, such great love in her eyes he thought his heart might cease to beat. “I forget,” she said softly, “you are always so very gentle with me and the children; I forget sometimes how strong you are.”

He shook his head. “Someday the boys will best me in all. They will outswim and outride and outbox me. That strength will fade. But Charlotte, my real strength, my true and lasting strength, is from you.”

“No,” she said, her forehead against his, “it comes from us, together, as does mine.”

###

_London_

“But does he have a case, man? Have you spoken to your solicitor?” asked Crowe.

“Yes, briefly, Christmastide and all. As I told you, yes and no. The wording is vague, but _her_ solicitor knew her intent, and would testify as such.”

“Pity he did not put it in writing.”

“Edward is bluffing,” said Babington.

“I agree,” said Clara. “I do not believe for a moment he wants to see any of us in court. And why would he want Sanditon House anyway? If his wife is a rich as he says, he can live anywhere.”

“From the beginning Sidney thought it was revenge of some kind,” said Babington. “Maybe that is what he’s after.

“Revenge on who? Me? Esther? You, Babington?” asked Clara.

“Who knows? The man is twisted.”

Esther sat quietly on the settee in the Crowe’s sitting room. Crowe turned to her. “You know him better than any of us. What’s his motive? Is it revenge?”

“I believe the one he wishes revenge on is dead. The late Lady Denham. Absent her, he will take it where he can.”

A footman appeared at the door. “Excuse me, sir. A visitor.” He presented the silver salver. Crowe picked up the card, then spoke to the footman. “Give us a moment.” He looked around the room. “Speak of the devil.”

“No,” said Babington. “Edward?”

Crowe held up the card. “Should I?”

After a moment of silence, Esther spoke. “See what he has to say and send him on his way.”

“Do we have a strategy?” asked Babington.

“Tie him up?” asked Crowe.

“One at a time,” said Clara. “Let him do the talking. Respond one at a time. Give him enough rope and let him hang himself.”

“Agreed?” asked Crowe. The other three nodded. He went to the door and spoke to the footman. “Show him in.”

A fleeting expression of surprise crossed Edward’s face when he entered the room. Quickly he regained his usual derisive visage. He cast his eyes upon the room’s occupants. _Clara is no worse for the wear_ , he thought. Still the angelic face, _ha-ha_ , with big blue eyes, framed by her golden hair. And Esther? Other than the obvious size of her abdomen, she looked like herself, a little older yet finer somehow. Less _pinched?_ “Well, well, happily met, Lord and Lady Babington in addition.”

“The purpose of your call, Sir Edward?” asked Crowe.

“Goodness, is that any way to greet a man you have not seen in eight years? The purpose of my call? Judging from your current company, I have no doubt you already have been apprised.”

“We have been away for Christmastide. Our _friends_ have come to visit. And you?”

“I have been traveling the continent with my wife, Lady Elizabeth Denham. Just recently returned. We intend to settle here. Hence, _my_ visit, to inform you of my intentions.”

“And they are?” asked Crowe, who stood next to the chair Clara occupied. He placed his hand on her shoulder. She reached up and covered it with hers.

“Come, come now, Mr Crowe, do not be coy. My intentions are to regain what was stolen from me.”

“Nothing was stolen from you, Edward,” Esther stated in a flat voice. “You made your choices, as did I.”

“That old woman deliberately took what was rightfully mine when she convinced my doddering old uncle to agree to an absurd marriage settlement that left her everything. You are more than aware of that, Esther, _you were there_.”

“And _your_ salacious father squandered _my_ mother’s fortune, and your mother’s as well. He was the one who left you penniless, Edward.”

“Neither here nor there,” snapped Edward. “I desire Sanditon House, and I will have it.”

“You sold your property, Edward. If you want to live in Sanditon, buy Denham Place back,” Babington said.

“Ah, well, perhaps I wish something a bit grander for my Elizabeth. She is accustomed to the finer things in life.”

“The late Lady Denham disowned you. There are two witnesses to it,” said Crowe.

“Yes, is it not wonderful? Both will have to testify under oath of the whole sordid affair. I cannot wait to hear Lady Babington tell the breathless crowd of how she lived with her brother in an incestuous manner. How he brushed her hair and tightened her corset and kissed her neck.”

“That is enough,” Babington growled.

“Is it? It’s all true. She would be lying to deny it. And Mrs Crowe? Well, she burned the first will, then like a common street drab lifted her skirts and spread her legs on the drawing room floor.”

Crowe, losing his usual unflappable demeanor, stormed over, grabbing Edward’s lapels and shaking him hotly. “Shut your filthy mouth.”

Edward laughed. “What, she never told you?”

Babington went to Crowe’s side and pulled him away. “He is baiting you, do not take it.”

Edward shook out his coat, sloughing Crowe’s loosening grip, and stepped back. “And then we had the time my dear sister plotted for me to _seduce_ Miss Brereton in order to _ruin_ her in our aunt’s eyes. And Miss Brereton took me in hand and finished me off quite of her own volition, there in the Sanditon House woods. And we had witness to that one, _Miss Heywood._ How would the great Sidney Parker feel to have _his_ sweet little wife testify to observing such a degenerate act? Hmmm?”

Esther gazed at the man she once adored and felt only infinite sorrow. “How far you have fallen, Edward.”

“Is that so?” He was livid now. “I am the only true Denham heir. You have no claim to the name, not by blood, not by law. And now my wife is with child. The true Denham line will continue.”

“All the more reason you should have a care about dragging your reputation and good name through the court,” said Babington calmly. “Why would you want to put your wife through all that? No one will win, Edward. No one. And for what? Revenge on a dead woman?”

Edward pulled himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest. “I observe four living people in this room, not a dead woman. I give you one week to decide your fate. I will see myself out. Good day.”

They were fixed in stunned silence for a moment or two. Esther turned to Babington, who looked back at her in absolute love, tinged with concern and exasperation. A wave of emotion crashed over her, a reaction to seeing her husband and her step-brother in the same room. All these years she had been following her aunt’s advice, _It_ _is infinitely better to be loved, than to love_. _After all, to love someone is to be held captive._ She spoke those words as an old woman who never knew real love, embittered after her unrequited affection for Rowleigh, spending the rest of her life acquiring money, not love. Now, at this moment, Esther knew for certain her aunt had been entirely wrong; wholly, utterly, completely _wrong_.

True love is equal love; to be loved and _love in return_.

Esther sensed the last vestiges of Edward’s hold over her dissolve as grains of salt in a cup of water. Yes, she had been held captive by Edward, but she never loved him as she loved Babington. Her feelings for Edward were borne of a need to feel protected and cared for. The upheaval in her life at such a tender age; her father passing so cruelly in an accident; her mother’s unceasing sorrow. The marriage to Mr Denham, a man hard and callous; her mother’s protracted illness and death. Through it all, Edward had been there for her, but somehow it all became twisted, distorted into something neither of them knew how to manage. She escaped. He did not.

“Let him have it,” she nearly whispered.

“What?” said Babington.

“The house. Sanditon House. Let him have it. I do not care. We can build our own house, free of the taint of all of this, my late aunt's included.”

“Do you mean it, in truth?”

“I do. The house is not worth all the suffering this will cause.”

"That means he wins."

"No, he does not win. He will always be miserable. We are the ones who know happiness."

###

Edward fumed as he entered his carriage. _Bastards, all_ , he thought. _I will have that house._ He felt the odds had edged over in his favor. Perhaps he should try his luck at the tables. He pounded on the roof and redirected the driver to the docks and one of Beecroft’s establishments.

Indeed, luck was at Edward’s side. Hours later he had amassed a tidy sum. _My very own pin money_ , he thought, a smirk on his face. The hour was late, the sky long dark when he left. The cool air refreshed him, and he decided to walk to the stable house for his carriage. The driver was most likely sleeping anyway. Edward did not notice the two figures who followed him, not until it was too late. Each gripped an arm, and one of them covered his mouth with a foul smelling hand. The pair dragged him into an alley where they slammed his head against the wall a few times, searched his clothing for his billfold, took it along with his pocket watch and silver headed cane. They dropped him onto the cobblestones without ceremony and stole away into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can take the story either way -- Edward lives or he doesn't. What do you think? let me know.


	38. It Started with a Bonnet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for all your wonderful feedback!

**The Eighth of January, 1828**

_London_

In the wee hours of the morning, Susan was awakened by noise and commotion outside. She rose, donned a robe, and left her bedchamber to view the street from an upper window. Several carriages and constables were present, servants and other men rushing to and from Francis’s townhouse next door where the Denhams resided. A man was removed from one of the carriages and carried inside. She could not see who it was, yet she knew it must be Edward.

Susan returned to her chamber and slept again, fitfully at best. In the morning, her lady’s maid informed her the street was abuzz with the news. Sir Edward Denham had been down near the docks and attacked, left in an alley for dead. Hours later, his carriage driver, having been told the gentleman left the gambling establishment much earlier, alerted the constable. The two of them found him not long afterward. His present state was unknown, only that he was in the care of both a surgeon and a physician.

###

“I do wish you would tell me why you are still so upset,” Clara said to her husband. She rolled to her side and propped herself up on her elbow. “I told you everything long before we married.”

“I am not angry with you,” Crowe said, staring at the ceiling. “It is the entire situation that has me rattled, _but_ I will admit, hearing it from him was an entirely different experience than hearing it from you.”

She stroked his cheek and turned his face to hers. “And that is precisely what he wanted, to rattle you and hurt me. Surely after all we have been through in the past eight years you will not allow him to come between us.”

“No, no, I…” He looked back at the ceiling. “When you told me all those years ago, I was a different man in many ways. I found it enticing to have an experienced woman to woo. I told you, I was finished with brothels. It was only a matter of time before my luck ran out and I caught some ghastly disease. And I quite fancied you, you know.” He looked at her and smiled wryly, then shifted and rolled so she was beneath him. “But I more than fancy you now; I love you. We have a family. We have a life together. I wanted to strangle him.”

“He is not worth it. I agree with Esther. He will always be miserable. We are the ones who are happy.” She smiled coyly and stroked his back. “Now, how can I, a woman of such experience, make you a little _happier?”_

“Saucy bitch,” he laughed and buried his face into her cleavage.

_Saint-Tropez_

Over four months after Mary said goodbye to her husband, a letter from him arrived. She held it and stared for a time, not quite believing it was real. She broke the seal, her heart filled with both hope and fear. Inside she found not much more than a page. Apologies for not writing earlier. A few mentions of the children and his visit, with no return plans discussed. Most importantly, he made no mention of Sanditon. No projects, no grand ideas for the summer. She found it refreshing and comforting. She and Arthur would travel back to England on the Diligence coach after the baby was born and Charlotte was out of danger. Jenny would travel back with the rest of the family in February. Mary felt it essential to be with Tom when he returned to Sanditon, lest all the progress he made up north be for naught.

**The Fourteenth of January, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

A mistral noir arrived from the northwest, bringing gray skies, rain and heavy seas. Everyone stayed indoors; the children with their school work, and afterward, puzzles, games of marbles and pickup sticks. The adults played cards and chess, read, played music, sang, occasionally danced. The midwives, Madames Cariveau and Laurent, paid frequent visits to Charlotte as her time approached.

Today, the cold dreary rain blanketed the landscape in gray, and tiny rivulets of water ran down the outside of the windows. But inside in the sitting room, the fire blazed and music floated softly in the air as Diana played a new piano sonata by the young German prodigy, Felix Mendelssohn. Charlotte relaxed in a chair, her feet up, while Sidney, seated cross legged on the floor with the children, reviewed a large map of Europe, explaining the route they would take on the steamship home. He told them about Gibraltar and how the British came to acquire it as a territory, and the children’s favorite part, of the Barbary macaques who lived on the Rock of Gibraltar.

Adam had crawled into his father’s lap, fascinated by the map, his little hand holding on to Sidney’s forearm as he traced the route with his finger. Adam’s expressions were so like his father’s. The little furrow between his brows, the tilted half smile, the little pout with his lower lip thrust out. Amelia and Jay were opposite sides of the same coin, with Jay bubbly and amused, tumbling onto his back, then spinning around to lie on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, making sure in his big brother way that Adam understood. Amelia stayed thoughtful and focused, seated exactly as her father with her legs crossed, asking dozens of questions in her sweet but purposeful way, always including Adam whether he understood or not. How good Sidney was with them, unwavering, a present and loving father, so much more like her own father than his.

The trip had become one of the best things that even happened for them, despite the physical discomfort she had along the way. They were always together. No trips to London and her ever present worry when he was gone, no late nights in his study writing letters, pouring over ledgers and shipping schedules. They had no household to run, no servants to supervise other than the three who came with them. He looked younger, smiled and laughed more often, and was nearly as amorous as when they first married.

And how excited he felt about his new venture with Étienne. Sidney had an adventurous streak, whether from his time in Antigua or simply by nature, but the pull for safe harbor with her and their children was stronger. He had both on this trip; they all did, and they would have both with his new enterprise. It was perfection. As if he heard, he looked at her and said, “Yes, it is perfect.”

She was surprised, but not terribly, as they often seemed to understand what the other was thinking. His reply was in response to Amelia saying how perfect it was that they would travel in a circle, down by land, back up by sea. But in his eyes, she saw he spoke to her.

**The Fifteenth of January, 1828**

_London_

“I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Lady Denham, but it is doubtful he will ever fully regain his sight,” said the physician. “That has been my previous experience with this type of injury.”

“But his eyes are perfectly fine. And he continues to babble gibberish. Will he come back to himself?”

“We are hopeful. The injury caused by the blows to his head will take time to heal. It is also the cause of the blindness, which is not in his eyes, but in his brain. Tell me, do you have family here?”

“No, I have written my family and hope my brother can journey here. Perhaps we will take Sir Edward back to New York.”

“If you do, I will be happy to write a letter to the doctors there, detailing my observations and the care we have given.”

**The Sixteenth of January, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

Jay shook Amelia awake. “Get dressed. I’m taking you somewhere.”

“Go away.” She pulled the covers up.

“No, you must come with me. It’s my birthday gift to you.”

“Waking me up is a gift?”

“You’ll see. Come on!”

After she had pulled on her dress and shoes, he led her down the stairs to the kitchen. Madame Gravier awaited him with everything ready. He made breakfast for his sister, right down to the perfectly folded omelette. He presented her with the plate and gave her a fine bow. While she ate, he made a plate for himself. “How fine this is, Jay,” she said. “You are the best brother a girl could have.”

Later at her second breakfast, she received beautiful shadow puppets that came all the way from China, and books, and a doll. By the end of the day, her first as a five year old, she had created a special play with her shadow puppets, all about the journey to the end of France and back.

**The Twenty-Second of January, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

At last that morning, pleasant weather returned. After the mistral noir had hung its bleak head about the skies for several days, there was a slight reprieve and then Le Mistral came blowing in, rattling shutters and tree limbs, but clearing the skies to a brilliant blue. Still, it was not pleasant to be outside for any length of time, so the inside activities continued. Today, they all felt the need to walk in the fresh air.

The baby had dropped low, and both Charlotte and the midwives were certain the birth was near. Charlotte had never been one for confinement. “Yes, I know,” said Sidney, “your mother worked in the garden right up until she delivered, but do you really think you should be walking on the beach?”

“Why not? I need some activity. I feel my bones might turn to mush if I don’t.”

All but Diana and little Isabelle proceeded to the beach. Sidney held on to Charlotte, bracing her as they headed down the steep sandy incline. Otis, Georgiana and Georgie had arrived earlier. “Ah, said Francis, “they had the same idea as we did.”

The day was fine and warm, the sky bright blue, but the sea did not have the same mood as it churned and frothed in short choppy waves, the color a deep, steely blue gray, the noise thunderous.

When they met up with the Molyneuxs, Georgie and Adam, best friends, tore down the sand towards the rocks like two little demons fleeing hellfire, giggling and squealing. Otis and Sidney laughed and gave chase after the two. Francis, Arthur, Mary and Jenny headed the other direction. As Charlotte looked out over the water, a gust of wind took hold of her broad brimmed bonnet from behind, lifting it off her head before she could reach the ribbons. It sailed out over the sea and landed on atop the water.

“I can fetch it, Mama,” said Jay.

“No, Jay, do not go in. Leave it,” she said over the next gust.

“It’s right there.” He had kicked off his shoes and began to wade out.

“No, come back!”

“Jay,” shouted Amelia, “Obey Mama!”

“I can reach it,” he shouted over the sea’s roar.

He seemed to walk on a sand bar, as he stayed high above the water, only his legs immersed. He moved towards the bonnet as it floated on the waves. “Oh, dear God,” whispered Georgiana.

Charlotte looked down the beach to Sidney, who with Otis played with Adam and Georgie. He caught her eye and she pointed to Jay, who was nearly to the bonnet. He scooped up Adam and ran towards her. Otis followed with Georgie.

Jay grabbed the bonnet and held it up high. “See!” he shouted.

“Come back this instant,” she cried.

Sidney had reached her side and set Adam down. “Jay!” he called.

Jay took a step back the way he came. The surface of the water began to swirl and foam across a wide stretch parallel to the beach, at least fifty to sixty feet in length. Then it broke with tremendous speed and strength, knocking Jay into the water, capturing him in its torrent and pulling him away from the shore.

Charlotte screamed, “No! Jay!” and then, “Sidney!” She tore her eyes away from the sea to look at him, but both he and Otis were already out of coats and waistcoats, pulling off boots. “Save him!”

“Yes,” he said into the roar as he raced into the water, Otis just behind.

“Rip current,” Otis shouted. “It won’t pull him under, but it will take him far out.”

They had passed the point where the waves broke, now swimming full out to reach the boy. From the beach and Charlotte’s view, Jay’s little head was but a black dot bobbing far out in the angry sea, pulling farther and farther away from the shore.


	39. Sometimes Life Happens in Threes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, let me say I am beyond honored that my fictional characters have touched you so. I will respond to all your comments soon, but I wanted to get these next few chapters up as quickly as possible. These events were planned from the very beginning, even before I started writing the story. Indeed, the bulk of the narrative has been leading up to this. There were many indications along the way.
> 
> But take heart that I stand by my initial statements, that no beloved characters will come to permanent harm in this story. But just as in real life, stuff happens, and the characters will deal with it as real people do, one step at a time. 
> 
> Thanks for all. XXXOOO

Still **the Twenty-Second of January, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

Georgiana put her arm around Charlotte. “He’s a good swimmer. They will reach him in time. Take heart, Charlotte, all will be well.”

But Charlotte stood, immobile, unable to move her eyes from the two figures in the water making their way to the bobbing black dot. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the deep need to scream or sob or both. Amelia and Adam clung to her.

The other four, having taken in the scene, were running towards Charlotte and Georgiana. Francis reached them first. “What happened?”

“Jay,” said Georgiana, “he was pulled out into the water by the current. Sidney and Otis are on their way to him.”

Mary arrived and took charge. “Jenny, take the children back to Diana and have her send for the physician. Alert the household, and bring back blankets for the three of them. They will be cold when they get to shore.”

“No,” said Amelia, “I will not leave Mama.”

Finally Charlotte found her voice. “You must take care of Adam and Georgie for us. Go with Jenny. Papa will bring Jay back; I promise.”

“But Mama…” she began to cry.

Charlotte stroked her head. “Go on, sweet girl, help me with the boys. They are too little to understand.”

The four of them headed up the trail. Amelia continually turning back to stare out at the sea. “Come on,” said Jenny softly. “We must be strong for the little ones. And we must hurry.”

Amelia nodded and took Adam’s hand as they quickened their pace back to the house.

Sidney and Otis had pulled up for a moment, getting their bearings as to Jay’s location. Sidney looked back towards the shore, where a distant Charlotte stood, her hand covering her mouth. Georgiana and the three children stood with her, the others running towards them. A flash of recognition passed through him; he had seen that image before, but there was no time to ponder it. Jay was still far away, out in open water where the rip current dissipated and left him. It still flowed near the two men, although losing strength. “I’ll get into the current and let it take me to him,” Sidney told Otis.

“Be careful, swim parallel to the shore if you need to escape it. I’ll head around and try to get between him and the open water.”

Sidney reached the rip current. The surge took hold of him, giving the sensation of cold hands over his body. He swam with it as it rushed him out to open water. When he felt it lose strength and drop him, he tread water again, searching for Jay. He spotted him about thirty feet away, floating on his back. “Jay,” he shouted, “are you all right? I’m almost to you.”

A faint croaking came. “Papa…”

“Stay where you are. Just keep your head above water.” He swam towards Jay, but the undertow from the returning water was powerful, and the swells heading in towards the shore hindered his progress. Each time he tried to make headway, Jay was still out of reach, floating off in a different direction. After the third try, Sidney tread water again, fatigue creeping in. 

A white hot fear surged through him. _I’m losing my son_.

That fear pushed him past any physical limit he thought he had as he dove beneath the water, trying to avoid the choppy swells, heading in the direction he’d last seen his boy. When he could take no more, he surfaced. A searing pain shot through his chest. Jay was a few feet away. He lunged and captured his son, pulling him into his arms. “I have you; I have you. Stay still.” Jay coughed and whimpered, his teeth chattered, his lips blue and face ashen.

Otis reached them. “Is he all right?”

“Very cold, but conscious. Have to get him back.”

Otis jumped out of the water and waved his arms to those on the shore. Then he helped Sidney position Jay so he floated flat on his back, Sidney’s arm around his chest, hip under his backside. Sidney would sidestroke back to shore with Otis next to him. “We need to avoid the section that ripped. Let’s head this way,” said Otis.

A cheer erupted from the group on land. Jenny had arrived with the blankets. When Arthur and Francis saw the direction Sidney and Otis were swimming, they took the blankets and headed down the beach. Georgiana embraced Charlotte. “You see? I told you all would be well.”

Charlotte nodded, fighting back her tears. A deep contraction pushed through her, doubling her over, leaving her groaning. _No, dear God, not now_ , she thought.

“What? Has it started,” asked Georgiana, alarmed.

“Charlotte?” said Mary.

Charlotte felt a trickle run down the inside of her legs. Yes, it had started. She nodded.

“We have to get you back and summon the midwives,” said Mary.

“No! I will not leave until they are safely ashore.”

“Jenny, go tell Aunt Diana to send for the midwives as well. Charlotte’s time has come,” said Mary. Jenny balked. She felt as much anxiety over the situation as everyone else did. She loved little Jay. “Go! You can come back after you tell her. It’s important, Jenny!”

Jenny reluctantly left. The three of them stood with their arms around each other as the three figures in the water came closer to shore. When they reached the wave breaks, the two men stood and waded out, Sidney with Jay in his arms. Arthur and Francis rushed into the water, Arthur holding a blanket out for Jay. Sidney released him into Arthur’s arms, “Take him to Charlotte first,” he said.

Arthur wrapped the boy up and headed for shore, whispering assurances to him, holding him close. Francis helped Otis and Sidney to dry sand, where they both collapsed to their knees, panting. Francis draped a blanket over both. Sidney could not catch his breath; his chest ached; his body shook. He had overexerted himself, he thought; it would soon pass. Arthur brought Jay to his mother. “I’m so sorry I was bad, Mama,” he sobbed through chattering teeth.

She kissed his cheek and stroked his face. “No, no, you are safe, that is all that matters. Uncle Arthur will take care of you.”

Arthur hurried away with him, and Charlotte turned her attention to Sidney. Georgiana was with them now, talking to Sidney before going to Otis. Sidney raised his head and looked at Charlotte. He nodded. She mouthed, “I’m sorry.” He shook his head and rose to his feet, slowly making his way to her. They fused into one being in each other’s arms. She wept, overwhelmed with knowing she could have lost them both. “We have to get you back,” he said, his voice raspy.

His face was pale and he was shaking. “Are you well?” she asked, pulling herself together.

“Yes, just very tired and out of breath. We’re a fine pair. Come, let’s get back.”

Mary walked on one side of Charlotte, Sidney on the other. Francis followed with the men’s coats and boots. Georgiana and Otis came last and would go directly to their cottage. Half way up the slope another contraction came, stopping Charlotte in her tracks, leaving her grimacing and panting. At any other time, Sidney would have simply picked her up and carried her to the house, but he knew he did not have the strength.

“Less than ten minutes now, I think,” said Mary. “We should be timing them. My fourth labor with James was very quick.”

“Twelve forty-one,” said Francis behind them, looking at his pocket watch.

The house was abuzz when they arrived. Physician and midwives on their way. Arthur and Diana had removed Jay’s wet clothing and wrapped him in blankets. Arthur held him in his lap before the fire, helping him sip a cup of warm milk. As Mary and Diana took Charlotte upstairs, Roland had fresh clothing for Sidney and a wash basin of warm water in the downstairs spare bedchamber. Roland helped him get the wet clothing off, and though he craved a hot bath, Sidney settled for washing the sea from his face, neck, and hands in the basin, then sponging the rest off with a damp towel. He felt steadier now, but still short of breath.

The physician arrived and after a quick examination pronounced Jay unharmed. He prescribed a warm bath and plenty of sleep. Sidney kissed Jay and told him not to worry. He held Amelia and Adam, telling them all would be well, that Mama was having the baby and he must go to her. He felt shaky again when he climbed the stairs to Charlotte, the pain in his chest coming and going, but he was determined to ride it out. She needed him now.

Charlotte labored in earnest when he stepped into the room. The midwives had arrived and Georgiana had left Otis under Abeo’s watch. It was after 2 o’clock. Charlotte stood braced against the bedpost, panting through a contraction. He went to her, held her, and did not leave her side again. He told her the doctor found nothing wrong with Jay, which took a worry off her mind.

By 4 o’clock, the midwives had her in the birthing chair. Sidney stood behind her, Mary and Georgiana on either side, rubbing, holding, bracing, whatever she needed. Diana translated. “You’re an experienced one, they say.”

“The baby is coming very fast.”

“Here’s the head!”

Sidney had his arms wrapped directly under hers so he could hold her securely for the last effort.

“One more big push now!”

Even though this was the third time he had seen her so, Sidney watched his wife in amazement as she transformed into what he could only describe to himself as a wild animal. And out the child slipped into the hands of Madame Cariveau, who said, “Une fille!” A healthy infant cry followed.

“A girl! Ten fingers, ten toes, she’s beautiful!” said Diana. Madame Cariveau placed the child on Charlotte and covered them with a blanket as they waited for the afterbirth. Sidney leaned over her shoulder as they admired their new daughter in her arms. “I told you it was a girl,” he said kissing her again and again. “Look, she has your chin. Finally.”

By 5 o’clock the cord was cut, the afterbirth out, the baby cleaned and nursed. Amelia and Adam came in to see their new sister. Adam sat on the bed; Amelia leaned on it. “Is she Justine?” asked Amelia.

“Justine Louise,” said Charlotte.

Adam smiled at his baby sister. “Tiny Tina.”

“Tina, eh?” said Sidney. “We’ll have to think about that.”

Mary and Diana took the two back to Nanny Grey. The midwives packed up and would wait several hours before leaving in case any problems arose, but for now they left mother, father and new baby alone together.

Sidney felt wretchedly tired, and the pain in his chest had worsened. He tried to hide it, but he did not fool Charlotte. “You are not well. I know it. What is it?”

“Something happened out in the water. I pushed myself past my limit, but it was the only way to reach him. There’s a pain sometimes, and I feel I cannot catch my breath.”

“We need the doctor to come back then.”

“No, I simply need to rest. You need not worry.” He stroked her hair and kissed her gently. “ _You_ rest now. I’m going outside to get some air. It’s a bit stuffy in here. I will check on Jay as well.”

He began to get up off the bed, but she put her hand on his back. “Sidney…”

He lay down again. “Yes, my love?”

“Come back to me.”

“I’m going outside for a moment to get some air. I will be right back.” He kissed her again, then sat up, trying not to appear unstable, and walked to the door and opened it. He had almost forgotten to give her the answer. It would have been as if he forgot to say _Amen_ at the end of a prayer. He turned to her and said it then: “You know I will.” He closed the door and headed to the stairs.

He felt terribly lightheaded on his way down and needed to hold the railing as he went. When he reached the bottom, he could hear the sound of voices and activity, but everything seemed far away. His vision shrunk down to tiny peepholes. He felt his knees buckle underneath him, and in one last effort to stop himself from falling, he twisted and landed on his side as the world faded to black.

Charlotte heard the thump of his fall and knew immediately what it was, rose from the bed and put Justine in her cradle. A few moments later a maid cried, “Monsieur Parker!”

Mary and Diana dashed in from the next room. Mary bent over him and patted his face. “Sidney, wake up. Sidney, are you all right.” He did not respond. “Oh, dear, what do we tell Charlotte?” she said to Diana.

“I already know,” Charlotte said from the stairs, wrapped in her robe. “Get the men, and Roland. We need to put him in bed. It will have to be the one down here. Someone get the doctor back.”

“Charlotte, you should not be out of bed.”

“Please Mary, do as I ask.”

Francis, Arthur and Roland came as soon as they knew. They carried Sidney into the spare bedchamber. She sent Roland for a nightshirt as she unbuttoned Sidney’s clothing, Francis and Arthur holding him up so it could be removed and the nightshirt put on. “Do not put him in the middle of the bed, put him to one side. I will need to sleep here. Mary, can you bring down Justine and have the cradle brought in? And we will need a bedpan. Warmed please,” she said to Roland. “We will also need a basin of water and towels, and drinking water.”

Everyone scurried about with their respective tasks. Charlotte crawled onto the bed next to him and caressed his face. “You will not leave me, Sidney Parker. I will not allow it. You must come back to me. Sidney, you must come back.”

And he hears her voice, far away, but he cannot respond. He is back in the winter sea. Cold, slate gray blue, choppy. He tries to swim towards the beach where Charlotte stands with her hand covering her mouth, but the current is pulling, dragging him farther and farther out. He swims so fiercely his lungs burn. “Sidney, you must come back,” she says.

_I have to get back to her. I must._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a medical person, but there are recorded cases of lung injury after severe physical exertion, and is most often seen in swimmers. In this day and age, it's treated with antibiotics and a day or two in the hospital, supplemental oxygen. A bit trickier in 1828, but Sidney is tough.


	40. To The River Styx and Back

Still **The Twenty-Second of January, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

The physician arrived shortly after 7 o’clock. He was making other calls and had been difficult to locate after his first visit to Jay that afternoon. A fever had set in by this time, and Charlotte kept cool dressings on Sidney’s brow and sponged his neck and chest. Amelia was her constant companion, dipping and wringing the towels, or simply sitting quietly on the bed while Charlotte took care of Justine.

Dr Mermoz listened thoughtfully to Charlotte’s recounting of everything Sidney told her before he collapsed and what she had observed. Francis translated. The doctor first took Sidney’s pulse, then observed his eyes and tongue. He took out his stethoscope, a long wooden tube shaped like a trumpet, placing the wide end on Sidney’s chest and listening through the other. After a thorough examination, he said it was not the heart. “It beats strong and steady,” Francis said. But the doctor did hear unnatural sounds in the right lung, and that along with the sound of Sidney’s breathing led him to believe there was an injury. “A combination of great physical and emotional stress, and perhaps combined with the temperature of the water,” the doctor surmised. The fever came from the inflammation, he said.

He prescribed tincture of willow bark from the apothecary to be rubbed into Sidney’s chest to draw out the inflammation, and three drops in a spoonful of water to be applied to the inside of his mouth every eight hours. They should use only cool compresses for the fever, no ice or cold baths that could cause more injury to the lung. “I will return tomorrow afternoon,” he said, and left a small amount of his own willow tincture until a visit to the apothecary could be made in the morning.

“I was ready to say, no bleedings, no leeches,” Charlotte said. “He did not even mention such things.”

“Yes, the French are far more advanced in medicine than we English,” said Francis. “Paris is the center for research and training. They consider medicine a science. They study diseases through postmortem dissections, something the English are horrified by. Quite absurd, really. Of course, there are learned men in England in the medical field, as my father was, but the politics of it all, fearing the loss of their reputations if they renounce the superstitious beliefs, well… that keeps merry old England in the medical dark ages, as it is in other aspects, as Arthur and I well know.” He rose from his chair and embraced her. “He will pull through, Charlotte; he is strong. He has a will to live, and a reason – you and the children. Now, you get some rest, and let us know if you need anything, _anything_ from us.” He kissed her on the forehead. “We love all six of you.” He winked and smiled and left her with her thoughts.

She opened Sidney’s nightshirt and placed the drops of tincture on his chest, slowly rubbing it in, imagining her hands were capable of healing him by touch. She talked to him as if he were awake, as if they were lying in bed together reviewing the day, but he was so still, only the sound of his rough breathing revealed he was alive. She prepared the tincture and water mixture and carefully daubed it to the inside of his cheeks and lips and to his tongue. _I will not cry_ , she told herself; _I will be strong for him_.

Mary brought Amelia and Adam in to say good night. Jay was sleeping soundly, she said. Adam crawled up on the bed, wanting his Papa to wake up, but Charlotte told him that Papa was not well and needed to sleep, so Adam curled up next to him. Amelia brought Charlotte a cool towel to replace the one on his forehead. “Will he be better tomorrow?” she asked.

“We hope he will, but it might take a few days.”

“All right,” said Mary, “let’s get you two off to bed. This has been a very long day.”

After kisses and embraces, the three of them left, and Charlotte focused on Sidney again, sponging his face and neck. Justine whimpered, and she took her from the cradle to nurse. “Tiny Tina, what a tumultuous day for your birth.” A few light brown locks of hair peeked from beneath her little cap. “You are the first one with light hair, my Tina, and a dimpled chin. Papa was so happy, and when he wakes up, we will put a snip of your hair in the locket, right next to Amelia’s.”

Sidney rocked his head on the pillow, furrowed his brow, took several short, gasping breaths and then settled again. She was not sure if he was dreaming.

He had heard the voices far away, Charlotte, Francis, the man speaking French, Mary and the children. He was no longer fighting the winter sea, instead he floated on his back in darkness, unable to see or move, the distant sounds his only link to the world around him.

**The Twenty-Third of January, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

Sidney was much the same the next morning, but his fever slightly less. Jay came to see his father and new sister. His spirits were low, and no matter how often Charlotte said it was not his fault Papa was ill, he believed it was. He brightened a little with his baby sister, but his gloom returned when he looked at his father, lying in the bed, motionless and unresponsive. Arthur fetched the willow bark tincture from the apothecary as soon as the shop opened, bringing it to Charlotte as Jay left the room.

“I am troubled about him,” she said. “He is shouldering so much. Maybe you can help him understand he is not at fault.”

“Yes, how to go about that?” wondered Arthur. “He worships Sidney. I can hardly imagine how he must feel right now. I will do my best, Charlotte. Do not worry.”

Arthur looked everywhere for Jay. He was not in the schoolroom, not in the kitchen, not in his bed. He found the little boy out on the terrace, sitting in the chair his father favored, staring out at the sea. “A penny for your thoughts, John Joseph Arthur,” he said, taking the seat beside him.

Jay looked at Arthur and smiled, returning his gaze out to the sea. He had been crying, Arthur could see plainly. “I was just thinking how hard it is to be good.”

“What do you mean?”

“She told me not to go in. Mama. So did Amelia. I did it anyway.”

“Do you know why?”

“I thought I would make her happy if I brought her bonnet back. Papa talks to me about this. About catching myself first, before I do something foolish.” Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he struggled valiantly not to openly cry.

“Ah, yes,” said Arthur, nodding and looking out over the sea. “Your father has done foolish things as well, so I cannot believe he has ever been angry with you. He tells you so you can learn, just as he had to.”

“Sometimes he is a little angry.”

“I will venture it is only when you have done something that could cause you harm.”

“Yes, you are right. But when has Papa been foolish?”

“Oh, dear me. He was very foolish when he was a young man. Our parents shipped him off to Antigua he was so foolish and _reckless_. He simply does not wish to see you repeat his mistakes.”

“But will he get better, Uncle Arthur?”

“I believe he will. My brother is the strongest man I know. Not just physical strength, mind you, although he has that, too. Your mother says he hears what is said to him. She believes he does, and she knows him better than anyone. You must tell him you love him, and you want him to get better. He will never blame you, Jay, never. He did what he did because he loves you. You do understand that, do you not?”

Jay left the chair and went to his uncle, putting his arms around Arthur's neck. He began to sob, deep and hard from the center of himself. Arthur pulled the little boy into his lap and rocked him until he had no more to cry.

“Do you know what I would like right now?” he asked Jay, who was hiccuping and rubbing his eyes.

“What?”

“Madame Gravier’s brioche toast with butter and strawberry jam. What about you?”

“Can we have hot chocolate, too?”

“Oh, we will have to ask very, very nicely, but I think she might oblige.”

**The Twenty-Fifth of January, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

“Charlotte, the midwives are here to see how you are.” said Diana. “Come upstairs now. I will bring Justine.”

Charlotte and Jay were on the bed, talking and laughing about remembrances past. It had been three days since Sidney collapsed, and his fever was nearly gone, his breathing less labored, but he still had not come round. Charlotte had made the bed the center of activity for the children, where they read and played quiet games and talked to Papa as if he were awake. At night, she held him and kissed him and told him how much she loved him. He would come back. She was determined.

“Jay, watch over him,” she said.

He nestled up to his father and took hold of his hand. “Where are you, Papa? We need you. I need you. You must teach me how to be a man. You must come back to us.”

Sidney floated in the darkness. He could not move. Then in the distance he saw a boat emerge from the black mist, a cloaked man standing with a pole, pushing the boat along. _Ah,_ he thought, _it is Charon, coming to ferry me across the River Styx. I must be dying, but I do not wish to._ He watched with morbid fascination as the boat drew closer, wondering what Hades’ ferryman would look like. The boat stopped before him. The man in the boat pushed back the hood of his cloak. He was not Charon. He was Jay. Jay as a full grown man. “You must come back, Papa. We need you. I need you. You must teach me how to be a man.”

_But you are a man. I can see that. You are a fine, handsome man._

“No. I am but a boy. This is who I will be, but you must teach me how. Come back with me.”

_I cannot move. I cannot get into the boat._

“Here, take my hand. Come on.”

Sidney tried with all his strength to raise his hand, but he could not. _You must leave me here._

“You would leave Mama? And Amelia? And Adam? And Justine? Take my hand.”

Sidney thrust his hand out of the darkness and grasped Jay’s. Straightaway he was in the boat.

Jay felt the slightest bit of pressure from his father’s hand. His eyes widened. “Papa. Are you awake?” The squeeze from his father’s hand was a little stronger this time. Jay jumped to his knees and held his father’s face. “Are you awake?”

Sidney’s eyelids opened slowly, nothing more than small slits. He nodded.

Jay smiled so hard he thought his face would split in half. “What do you need?”

Sidney tried to speak, but nothing came out. He mouthed, _Water._

Jay jumped down from the bed and poured a glass of water, holding up his father’s head so he could drink. After a few sips, he nodded again, it was enough for now. He managed to whisper, “Mama?”

“Upstairs with the midwives.”

“The baby?” 

“She is up there, too. They are well.”

“How long?”

“Three days. I will bring Mama.”

Jay ran to the door and up the stairs shouting, “Mama! Mama! He’s awake! He’s awake!”


	41. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, for all your kind words and love for these characters. It means the world to me.

Still **The Twenty-Fifth of January, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

The first to respond were Mary and Diana, who often spent their hours in the small sitting room across the hall, reading and writing letters. Diana’s eyes were brimming with tears while Mary smiled ear to ear. Sidney gave a smile in return. The two sisters stood together at the bedside, holding his hands. “Oh Sidney, you’ve given us such a fright,” said Diana. “How good it is to see you better.”

Amelia and Adam came next; Adam barreling for his father only to be held back by his sister. “Careful, Adam,” she said, “slow down.”

Standing at the side of the bed, Adam stretched up as far as he could and patted his father’s face. “Papa! You sleep three days!”

“He was tired,” said Charlotte from the doorway, Justine in her arms.

When Sidney heard her voice, his eyes opened wider and met hers as she came to him with Jay and seated herself on the edge of the bed, laying the baby down next to him. “Charlotte.” He reached out his hand and wrapped it over hers. She brought it to her lips and kissed it.

“Welcome back, we have missed you.”

“Yes,” said Mary, “we all have.”

Then came Francis and Arthur. “Sidney! Jolly good to see you awake, brother!”

“Good heavens, yes! So good to see you back with us,” said Francis.

“You must be famished. May I fetch you something?” asked Arthur.

“The doctor said he is to have warm broth first,” said Charlotte. She ran her hand across his forehead. “Would you like some now?”

“Perhaps.” His voice was soft and gravelly.

“I shall return,” said Arthur.

Adam turned his attention to his little sister, then looked back at his father. “It’s Tina.”

Sidney raised his eyebrows. “Justine,” he said.

Charlotte smiled. “I’m afraid you lost that battle; she’s Tina now. That’s what happens when Papa goes to sleep for three days, good sense flies out the window.”

He started to laugh, but ended in a grimace.

“Hurts?” Amelia asked.

“A little. It will heal.”

“All right children, let’s give your father some time to rest. Say good bye for now,” said Mary.

“Awww,” said Adam.

“You will see him later,” said Charlotte. “Give him a kiss.”

Jay helped Adam up, saying, “Be gentle.”

And Adam was very gentle, kissing his father on the cheek. “I love you, Papa.”

“And I love you, and you,” he said to Amelia, “and you,” to Jay.

“And Tina,” said Adam.

“And _Justine_ ,” said Sidney.

Amelia helped Adam down and gave her father a kiss. She whispered in his ear and he beamed at her. Then Jay stood before him, a lump in his throat. “I love you, Papa,” he barely whispered, looking at his feet.

“Come here.” He cupped the boy’s head in his hand. Jay met his father’s eyes. “You are my son. I would do the same thing a hundred times again. You are not to blame.”

Jay nodded and kissed him on the cheek.

Charlotte returned Justine to her cradle, then helped him to drink a few more sips of water, and when they were alone, she leaned over him and gave him her kiss.

“I’m so sorry I have not been here for you,” he said.

She smoothed his hair and ran the back of her fingers down his cheek, thick with stubble, then rested her hand on his chest. “You did what I asked; you _saved_ him. The rest is unimportant. I am well and so is she. Now you must get well.”

“They said you are past danger? The midwives?”

“Yes, but they chastised me for doing too much…”

He chuckled, followed by a slight grimace. “They have no idea who they are up against, do they?” He covered her hand with his. “What has the doctor said, something about my breathing, my lungs?”

“Did you hear? I was certain you could.”

“Sometimes I did, but it was all far away and I could not often make it out, only sounds. I heard you, always.”

“He said your right lung is injured from the exertion, exactly as you thought, perhaps combined with the cold water. You had a fever for two days, from inflammation he said. He believes you will have a full recovery, but you must proceed slowly.”

“So we will convalesce together. That might not be such a bad thing.” He gave her a sly smile.

“Someone is rallying rather quickly I see.” She kissed him, lingering and sweet. “No heavy breathing, Mr Parker, no exertion. And it will be six weeks on my birthday, so you’ll have to wait until then.”

“Never stopped us before, Mrs Parker. I seem to recall we found ways around with the previous three. _And…_ I am already planning your birthday gift.”

She smiled and kissed him again. “How I have missed you.”

“There is one thing I must ask of you.”

“What?”

“Can we not be rid of this blasted bedpan?”

“I wasn’t expecting that,” she said with a little smirk. “Yes, poor dear, I believe we can see to it.”

Arthur and Francis arrived with the broth. They removed the bedpan, assisted Sidney in sitting up, propped with pillows, and placed the tray before him. Arthur took the lid off the small tureen. “Madame Gravier’s best beef broth. I tasted it myself, positively scrumptious.”

“Well, if it is good enough for you, Arthur, it shall be perfect for me. Thank you, brother.”

“You have a bit of mail from the last few days; I’ll bring it by,” said Francis. “Rest, both of you. And not too much talking, Sidney, you sound a bit like a frog croaking.” The three of them began to laugh.

Sidney smiled and shook his head. “Please don’t make me laugh; it’s painful.”

“Ah, my apologies.” He droned in a monotone, “Nothing but dour, dull conversation from now until the _frog_ has lifted.” He blew them both a kiss.

###

“I am so happy to see you, my friend,” said Otis. You had us all a bit concerned.”

Sidney grasped Otis’s hand. “I did not have a chance to thank you for what you did, for helping me. It means the world to us. You are a true friend.”

“Sidney, you would do the same for me in a heartbeat. Of that, I have no doubt.”

“We certainly hope it will never come to pass!” said Georgiana, who held Justine, gently rocking her to and fro.

“Quite,” said Charlotte.

“Now, I have the packet ship tickets lined up. The steamships run on limited schedules, so we had to take February 18th departure, otherwise it was another full month’s wait. But we will speak of all later, when you are both rested.”

Georgiana placed Justine in her cradle. “She is a beauty. Such delicate little features. Is she really to be called Tina?”

Sidney looked at Charlotte, then back to Georgiana. “Apparently it was decided in my absence.”

“Well, I think it’s sweet. Only a family name, after all, as Jay is, and Georgie.”

“I can see I’m outnumbered.”

“You’ll become accustomed to it. It was Adam’s idea, Tiny Tina, he called her. You can call her Justine if you like,” said Charlotte.

“True.”

When Georgiana and Otis had left and closed the door, Sidney sighed. “I am exhausted. I haven’t even looked at the mail Francis brought.”

“Of course you are. You’ve been awake and talking for hours. Mail can wait. We should both sleep. At least until Jus- _tina_ wakes again.”

**The Twenty-Sixth of January, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

They slept _together_ , Charlotte not holding a still, unresponsive body, but her husband, caressing and kissing and murmuring. He seemed much improved in the morning, asking for eggs, toast, fruit, and coffee. Roland assisted him to wash, shave, and change his nightshirt.

She was curled on the bed, nursing Justine. He finally opened his mail. A routine letter from his solicitor, responses to queries from bottling companies and other new business related correspondence. And a letter from Babington. He read it, incredulous, and set it down, redirecting his gaze to Charlotte, needing an escape. How beautiful she was. “I am envious,” he said.

“No physical exertion, Mr Parker.” She narrowed her eyes.

“I will find a way.”

He went back to the letter and read it again. “This is so fantastic I cannot believe it is true.”

“Tell me.”

“You should read it in full, but a summary… where do I start?”

“At the beginning.”

“Of course. Well… Edward Denham tried to coerce, for lack of a better word, Esther into giving him Sanditon House. He came to Crowe’s right after Christmastide, when the Babingtons were there, although he did not know that at the time. He proceeded to throw down a rather salacious gauntlet that he would take her to court and sully both her and Clara in the process if she did not. He even said he would bring you in to testify about some scandalous act you witnessed.” He paused. “You will need to tell me about that.”

“Pish posh, that is ancient history, and I saw very little, if anything. I had been in Sanditon but a few days. It was Edward being… _Edward_. It could reflect poorly on Clara, but in retrospect, I do understand her dilemma. I did not then.”

“Well, it matters not, because it seems Edward went down to one of Beecroft’s seamier establishments, gambled and won a bit, then was attacked, robbed, and left for dead in an alley. He is blind, and not in his full faculties. But most unfortunate of all, his wife is with child.”

“Oh! I am so sorry to hear that. Poor woman.”

“Yes, it seems Esther is quite broken up about it.”

“About Edward?”

“No, about his wife and child. Susan has been involved. She lives next door, after all. You will need to read it, my love. But for now… I count my blessings.”

**The Twenty-Seventh of January, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

That morning, Dr Mermoz completed his examination. The sounds from Sidney’s lung and his breathing were much improved. No exertion for a week, no activity that caused deep breathing. Continue with the willow bark tincture, only twice a day, morning and evening.

“May I have a bath?” asked Sidney.

“Warm, not hot,” said the doctor via Francis. “I will return in a week for next evaluation.”

The servants brought in the tub and placed it before the fire, filling it with alternating buckets of hot and cold water. When the tub was full and temperature right, Roland helped Sidney out of his nightshirt and into the tub, then brought over a chair for Charlotte and placed the folding screens around to ward off drafts. She washed Sidney’s hair, which still held salt from the sea, and scrubbed his back. He slid down as far as his long frame would allow so he was immersed to his neck.

“I would like to return to our room after this,” he said.

“You’ll have to climb the stairs.”

“I will not run up them, I promise; I will take them slowly, just as you have to. He did not say I had to be bedbound. I would like to eat with the family sometimes, sit on the terrace. I will be careful.”

When the water had cooled, she helped him stand and dried him, slowly and lovingly. “I feel I have two babies,” she said.

“What a lucky man I am.”

Roland brought fresh clothing and helped Sidney dress, then took the cradle upstairs.

Together, Sidney, Charlotte, and Justine in her mother’s arms, slowly climbed the stairs.

###

Sidney popped open the window in the heart locket, and Charlotte placed the snip of Justine’s hair inside. At the end of the bed, Jay, Amelia and Adam watched. She placed the open locket down for them to see. “Here is Papa’s, and here is mine. Then Jay is next to Papa. Amelia is next to me. Then Adam next to Jay.”

“And Justine, next to me,” said Amelia. “But there is room in the middle for another.”

“Perhaps,” said Charlotte.

“It will be a boy,” said Amelia.

“Yes, I think you are right,” said Sidney.


	42. Coming to a Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your sweet affection for these characters.

**The Twenty-Ninth of January, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

“I should like to go back with you, Mother, to help with Father.”

“It’s a very long coach ride, Jenny. You will be able to bring only a valise. No trunks,” said Mary.

“I have clothing at home. And besides, the journey by ship will be three times as long. May I please? I will be safe. We will have Uncle Arthur with us.”

“You must let Amelia know you will not finish her travel diary.”

“We’ve talked of it already. We have a plan.”

“Do you now?” Mary stroked Jenny’s blonde head and smiled. “Oh, Jenny, of course I would want you with me, as long as you understand the discomfort involved.”

“I do. And if you are willing to tolerate it, so am I.”

“Very well. We leave in six days.”

“I know I will return here. To France. I’m sure of that. But I am anxious to go home, to see Father, and Alicia and the boys.”

“Alicia? Your mortal enemy?” Mary teased.

“We’ve patched our differences. Did you know she is sweet on Freddie Heywood?”

“I did not know. Well, he is a fine young boy, just a year older." She looked out the window and sighed. "I only hope this period of tranquility holds with your father. I’ll never be able to thank Alison and Charles for what they’ve done with him.”

“I think we need to keep him riding once he returns to Sanditon.”

"Yes, he does seem to respond well to it. Plenty of places to ride in Sanditon. We shall see, will we not?"

###

Charlotte finished nursing Justine and tucked her in beneath the cradle covers. The moon was nearly full, so instead of lighting a candle, she had opened the drape to allow the velvety moonlight in. She rubbed in the salve the midwives had given her, listening to Sidney’s breathing. It was much improved, the inhalation deeper, the rasping noise less pronounced. Once back under the covers, she gazed up at the ceiling illuminated in ethereal moon glow, and then to Sidney, his profile softly lit. How could she have lived without him? She had scarcely allowed herself to even consider the notion since the day on the beach when he came to her, soaked and cold to the bone, ashen and shaking. Or the loss of Jay. Or both of them.

Without warning, agony rose from the depth of her being, wrapping her in a veil of sorrow; the lamentation she forced herself to stop that day returned tenfold, her sobs nearly silent for fear of waking Sidney. Streams of tears ran from the corners of her eyes, down the sides of her face and into the pillow.

Sidney had not been fully asleep. He heard Justine’s whimpers, felt Charlotte rise to get her. Had he been well, he would have brought the baby to her, but rising from the bed was still a protracted and slightly painful process for him. He listened half-awake as she whispered and sang to the baby, letting the sound of her voice lull him into a light sleep. But these sounds were different. He turned to her. “Charlotte? Are you in pain?”

She gasped, her weeping voiced now. She shook her head. He was able to prop himself up on his left elbow and reach for her. “Why are you so far away from me? Come here, my love, I cannot move to you easily. What is it?” He gently rubbed her abdomen. “Are you in pain? Should I call for the doctor?”

“No, no. It isn’t that.”

“Come,” he said opening his arm out. She slid over; he lay back and stretched out his left arm for her to rest against his shoulder. He brushed her tears away. “Tell me.”

She breathed out a heavy sigh, regaining control of herself. “I was terrified I would lose you, or Jay, or both of you. I could not even think of what I would have done, cannot even speak of it now. I did not let myself cry. I could not let the children think things were so dire. I had them with you as much as possible. I tried to keep their mood uplifted.” She sighed again. “It poured through me just now, all I held back this week.”

He put his finger under her chin and tilted her face to his, kissing her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks. “Charlotte, the events you endured that day, with strength and grace, would have sent anyone else reeling. You nearly lost one child, gave birth to another, then had your husband collapse when you needed him the most. I’m so sorry I gave you such a fright. But you did not lose me. I’m right here. I will be well. And we did not lose Jay; he is asleep in his room. Justine is born and healthy. And I did not lose you to childbirth.”

“Yes. We have every blessing. That is what frightens me.” She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. “I… I could not bear to lose you.”

“I thought I would lose _him_ to the sea. I was terrified, the same as you. Each time you have a child, I’m stricken with the fear I could lose you. Those feelings are natural, do you not think?”

“Of course they are. But I am quite certain, Sidney Parker, if your heart should stop beating, mine will do the same not long after. I do not know how I could live without you.”

He breathed in and slowly exhaled. “I would not wish to be the cause of your demise. Ever. I imagine the same would happen to me should you leave me first. So we need to take good care of each other.” He kissed her, tenderly, slowly. “If I start the day feeling I could not possibly love you more, I end it loving you twice as much as before.”

She traced his lips with her finger. “ _My bounty is as boundless as the sea. My love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have…_ ”

“… _for both are infinite_ ,” they said together.

“Juliet, on the balcony.”

“I always thought she had more sense than Romeo.”

She smiled. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I was too much like him, pining for the unattainable Rosaline, then having to be hit over the head, figuratively speaking, to find true love.”

“Did you find your true love?”

He kissed forehead. “I found you, my one, true, and only love.”

“And you are mine.” She nestled into him. “We should sleep now. She will wake again in a few hours.”

“Stay here with me, not the edge of the bed.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You must never think that. I cannot have you crying alone in the moonlight.”

“Should I close the drape?”

“No, I rather like it. I don’t believe it will make one mad. The next full moon we will see from the ship.”

“The next adventure. I think I shall be quite ready for home when we finally arrive.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Home. That sounds lovely right now.”

And they drifted off to sleep.

**The First of February, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

Dr Mermoz was pleased with the patient’s progress. Sidney needed to build his strength back, starting with slow walks around the garden, progressing a little further each day until he could walk to the sea and back. After that he could walk along the shore as well. Willow bark should be taken once a day.

“We’ll be leaving for England in two weeks, first to Marseille by carriage, then by steamship all the way back.”

“Have you traveled long distances by water before?” asked the doctor through Francis.

“I have, to the West Indies and back.”

“Seasickness?”

“No, rather immune to it.”

“Good, because heaving and vomiting would stress the lung. This will take several months to fully heal. I’m sorry I cannot see you through the entire way. I will prepare notes to give to your physician in England. But I will visit at least twice more before you leave.”

“He’s a good man and a fine doctor,” Sidney said. “How fortunate I am you brought him to me, Francis.”

“Only the best for you, my brother. Is it still old Dr Fuchs in Sanditon?”

“Yes, he’s quite ensconced in our little town,” Charlotte said.

“He’ll take good care of you, I am certain.”

“But now,” Sidney grinned, “would you like to take a very slow walk around the garden with your old husband, Mrs Parker?”

###

Étienne came by in the afternoon. He and Sidney spent several hours talking over their plans, exchanging notes, contacts, and addresses, organizing the next steps in their project. All the family gathered for dinner, one of the last they would have together in France for now. Good food, wine, song and companionship filled the night.

**The Fourth of February, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

Mary and Jenny finished last minute details before departing. The trunks that would need to go by land were stacked and ready for when the time came. Carefully chosen necessities were tightly packed into three valises. Arthur would, of course, be coming back, but when, he was not sure. He did have clothing stored at Bedford Place and Westerly Manor if he needed.

Any correspondence between them would not reach Saint-Tropez before the 16th when the rest of the family headed to Marseille and the steamship. All had to be arranged now, before Mary and Arthur left. Sidney had written to the Retreat in York, advising them of Tom’s appearance of recovery, but in the event it did not hold, Arthur would have full authority to make decisions should Tom need to be committed. Sidney assured Mary that he would cover all the expenses related to the Retreat if it became necessary. She protested, but he and Charlotte had decided, and they would not hear otherwise.

“You are too good to us,” said Mary.

“Nonsense,” said Sidney. “We want to see Tom well again, and whatever we can do, we will.”

“Whatever would I have done without you here, Mary? How you’ve helped me, especially of late with the children. I so hope Tom does not need the hospital, but if he does, you should not worry about the cost.”

Madame Gravier packed a large basket of food for the trip to Marseille, where they would attend to the paperwork needed and have their passports authenticated to leave the country. Three places in the interior of the great diligence coach were secured, plus two above.

The embraces and kisses were long, especially for Diana and Francis, who promised to come back to England soon, but when they did not know. Arthur bid his sister and his partner his sweetest adieus. The three of them climbed in, Mary’s maid and Arthur’s valet above, and the carriage rolled down the drive and out of sight.


	43. Last Days and Departure -- The End of Part 3

**The Eighth of February, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

The last two letters Sidney awaited had arrived. The first from the British Embassy in Marseille, confirming they would have the passport for Justine ready. All Sidney needed do was present the birth certificate issued by the French authorities. Francis, in his usual manner, had seen to procuring the birth document after Sidney’s collapse, Dr Mermoz himself signing the certificate.

The second was a response from the travel company that arranged their trip to Saint-Tropez. Sidney had explained they would be returning by sea, as two members of the party were convalescing, but their luggage would need to go back the same way it had come, and what to do with the carriage they rented all these months? The reply was most accommodating, after all Mr Parker was a very good customer, and Sidney was assured all would be taken care of, with further information to follow forthwith.

In the past weeks, Sidney made a habit of keeping Jay in his company more often. Today, he wrote the staff at home in Sanditon, advising of the travel plans and schedule for their homecoming. He and Jay sat at the small desk in the bedchamber; Jay practiced writing on his slate as his father wrote. “Is there anything you would like to tell them?” he asked Jay.

“Perhaps to Mr Bainbridge, about Titan.”

“Would you like to write it yourself?”

“I’m not practiced with pen and ink yet.”

“Pencil will do very well. Here.” He set the letter before him. “Get your pencil, then write in this space at the bottom of the paper. What do you wish to say?”

“Please tell Titan I am coming home soon.”

“All right, how do you start?”

“Dear Mr Bainbridge…”

“Go ahead…”

Jay put his pencil to the paper, stopping now and then to confirm he used proper spelling.

“Good,” said his father. “How do you sign it?”

“Thank you, Jay Parker.”

They read the full letter aloud together. “Is there anything else we need to tell them?” asked Sidney.

“No, I think not.” He paused for a moment. “Papa?”

“Hmmm?”

“I will miss it here, but I’m also happy to be home soon.”

“Ah, yes, I believe we all feel the same.” He gave his son a firm embrace and a good hair tousling, and sent him to Nanny Grey. Jay blew a kiss to his mother on his way out the door.

Sidney stood and stretched carefully. Justine slept in her cradle. Charlotte rested on the bed, reading. She set down her book and watched him cross to the door and lock it.

“I am happy you had him here,” she said. “He needs attention, especially from you. And with Arthur gone.”

“Someone else needs attention from me, I think.” He came to the foot of the bed.

“Oh, and who would it be?”

He flashed his most disarming smile, the one he kept for her only, knelt on the bed and crept up on all fours, pushing up her skirt and settling himself on top of her. “How I have missed the simple pleasure of lying atop my beautiful wife.” He held her face in both hands as he kissed her, deeply and thoroughly before moving to her neck and throat. She ran her fingers through his hair and entwined her legs around his.

“Unhappily this can lead nowhere for either of us.”

“I don’t care. I simply want to be here. Practice for your birthday, you know.”

“Is that all it is? We’ll be on the ship then, in a very small bed, in a very small cabin.”

“We’ll fit together. We’ve always fit together.” He whispered in her ear, “from the very first time.”

She breathed out a smile. “Why does that feel as if it were both yesterday and a hundred years ago?

He shifted off her slightly so his head was on the pillow. “Perhaps because we never tire of each other.”

“Yes.” She ran her fingers up and down his back. “I’ve been thinking; there is something you should do before we leave…”

“Take him down to the sea.”

“Just the two of you.”

“My thoughts exactly. How is it you always know?”

She chuckled softly. “I don’t necessarily know what you are thinking; we simply think alike, especially when it comes to the children.”

“Not in one case…”

She let out a melodramatic sigh. “For heaven’s sake, between you and Amelia I’ll never hear the end of it.” She turned and nipped him playfully on the nose.

“Ow! Attacking me because you cannot win the argument, eh?” He rubbed his nose. “Or are you just trying to make me laugh?” And he was trying not to.

“I do not care whether she is called Justine or Tina or Justina, Sidney. You will need to explain to Adam, that is all. And if I may add once again, _you_ changed John Joseph to Jay.”

“We have previously established that is not a valid point. We agreed on Jay; it was only we two. Amelia has a stake here, after all, Justine was her suggestion. And we never should have named him John Joseph in the first place.”

“We were trying to be diplomatic.”

“Made no difference. Tom was still unhappy.”

“The Arthur part of his name did not help the matter. But you, Mr Parker, deserved to be nipped for vexing me.”

He rolled back on top and held her hands down. “Go ahead, try to nip me again and I will kiss you senseless.”

“That’s not much of a penalty,” she laughed.

“We’ll see about that.” He lowered his head to kiss her, then pulled back. “Are you going to bite me?”

“No, I promise I will not. But you may kiss me senseless.”

###

_London_

“From Sidney?” asked Esther.

“Yes, finally. I was beginning to think he’d forgotten about us. How is Elizabeth?”

“Oh Babington, I do not know if she appreciates the attention from Susan and me, or if she resents it. She is quite difficult to read. I told her I will not see her again for some time, now that _my_ time is so near, and I do not know if she cared or not. Her brother will not be here for at least another month, but Susan will look in on her. The lease for the townhouse is up at the end of March. I suppose Francis would let her stay longer if she needed it. Mail is so slow between here and their little spot down in France.”

“And Edward?”

“The same, blind and incapacitated. It is tragic, even if he was malicious to us.”

“The doctors think there is no hope?”

“Not all. One in particular says it can take months for an injury such as this to heal and the senses to return. It has only been four and a half weeks." She sighed. "But what of Sidney's letter?”

“Haven’t read it yet. I had just opened it when you arrived.”

“Read it to me, will you?”

“I reserve the right to censor anything your lovely ear should not hear,” he said, smiling.

She rolled her eyes. “Surely you jest.”

“Come, sit with me while I read.”

_Babbers,_

_My apologies for not answering you sooner. I do have an excuse, which I shall explain later._

_What a confounding story about Edward Denham. Charlotte and I were both rather stunned. I knew he was up to something, but never would I have thought it was attempting to filch Sanditon House. Our sympathies to his wife, but we are relieved no harm came to your family or Crowe’s. I know it is uncharitable, but the term, poetic justice, comes to mind. Looking forward to all the details when we return._

_We hope you are all in good health, and the fourth Babington babe arrives safely. The fourth Parker has done just that, on 22 January, a girl, Justine Louise. Charlotte is recovering well and our little girl is fine and healthy. However, the day of her arrival is one we shall never forget._

_We had been confined to the house by bad weather, first cold and rain, then the Mistral and its incessant blasting wind. On that day, we took advantage of the calm and sun, all strolling along our favorite beach. Otis and I were down a ways with Adam and Georgie, and a wind gust blew Charlotte’s bonnet right off her head and out into the sea, where our intrepid and sometimes foolish Jay decided to go to retrieve it against his mother’s wishes._

_So, I will make this brief, as the whole story should be recounted in person. He was caught in a current and swept out to sea. Otis and I went in after him, and there was a moment I feared I could not reach him. In one last effort to do so, I injured myself, my lung, though I did not know exactly what it was at the time. I brought him back to shore, and he was chilled but unharmed. Then I found Charlotte had begun her labor._

_We returned to the house, midwives called. Thankfully it was quite swift, four hours, as I knew I was not sound. I made it through for an hour after, then promptly collapsed into a heap and was out cold for three days. Happy to say, I am on the mend, though the doctor tells me it will take several months for a full recovery. Charlotte was a tower of strength throughout. There are no words to describe the depth of my love for her. I thank my lucky stars and all powers that be that I am here writing this letter to you._

_As I wrote before, we will take a packet ship back. Otis has found it is a combination ship, both full sail rigging and paddle steamer. We sail from Marseille on the 18 th and should arrive in Southampton on the 10th of March. Mary, Jenny and Arthur are already on their way by public coach and should arrive around the 12th. I believe they plan to stop in Sanditon and then head up to Cumberland. Tom is still doing well, or so we last heard, and we are all hopeful._

_Any mail you have sent here after the 4 th I will most likely not see, as we leave on the 16th for Marseille. Francis will forward it on. Be well and happy. We will think of Esther and send all our love to her and the children. I hope you take my advice and stay with her during the birth._

_Yours,_

_SP_

“My God, what a tale,” said Babington. “We have so much to tell each other when they return.”

“I cannot imagine. She is far stronger than I am.”

“I suppose you never know how strong you are until you are tested.”

“One test I do not care to take, losing my children. Or you.”

“Oh, my dear Esther. God forbid any of that.” He held her and kissed her on the temple.

She nodded. “Yes, no grim talk. Now, you mentioned it before, but are you really going to stay with me when my time comes? Do you mean it?”

“Do you mind?”

“No, but… you will see a side of me that may shock you a little.”

“Sidney says I will love you more than ever. I cannot turn that down.”

“I suppose I could always send you away, or you could leave.”

“I will not leave, and I hope you do not send me away.”

“Well then, I should tell you how it all goes, so you are not too surprised.”

“I feel like a schoolboy.”

“Lord Babington, you are most definitely _not_ a schoolboy.” She patted her rotund belly. “This is proof.”

**The Fourteenth of February, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

Packing went on in earnest now, two days before departure. The transport wagon for the luggage going by land would arrive tomorrow, and careful selections must be made. Although they would be in cabins on the upper deck for well-to-do passengers, with a steward, cooked meals and good ventilation, laundry facilities would be at a minimum. Charlotte was most concerned about napkins for Justine, and grateful that she was nearly passed needing them for herself.

Their party would occupy five of the ten cabins, affording familiarity. They had no wish to put their servants in steerage, so Amelia would share a cabin with Haskell and Nanny Grey. Jay and Adam with Roland. Georgie would stay with his parents, as would Justine. And Offiah and Crockett would have their own cabin.

“It is our wedding gift to them,” said Georgiana. “They would be married now, but the laws in France are so very different from ours, they have decided to wait until we arrive on British soil. But no matter. I am simply happy to see _her_ so happy.”

**The Fifteenth of February, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

Sidney and his first son walked along the sand, Jay uncharacteristically quiet.

“Are you feeling a troubled to be here?” his father asked him.

“No. Just thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“I don’t need a penny. I can tell you.”

“All right.”

“You brought me here so I will not be afraid. I was afraid, when it happened, but not now. But Papa, do you know what?”

“What?”

“I had dreamed of it, back in Paris. Do you remember? You had a bad dream, too, that night.”

“You did not dream of the sea, though.”

“No, it was little goblins pulling me. But the water felt like that. Like cold hands all over me.”

“Will you be afraid to swim again, do you think?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I will not know until I do. Will we sea bathe in Sanditon when you are well?”

“Most assuredly. I plan to take you as soon as I can. We need to start Adam as well.”

“He will like it. Adam is a handful.”

“Is he now? And here I thought _you_ were the handful.”

“Oh no,” said Jay. “Adam will be much more than me. You will see.”

“I can hardly wait,” said his father, smiling to himself.

**The Sixteenth of February, 1828**

_Saint-Tropez_

The goodbyes brought pain and love. Sidney embraced his only sister and kissed her forehead. “Please come with Étienne next autumn. You and Francis and Arthur. And Isabelle. We miss you so, but we do know why you stay.”

“Oh, Sidney. Perhaps we will. Please take care of yourself and your dear children. And Charlotte.”

“You know I will.”

Embraces and kisses and many, many thanks for Francis and Diana from the children, and the adults, and promises to travel both ways.

Charlotte wrapped her arms around Diana. “Thank you, for being there for me, through thick and thin. Know we love you and Francis and Isabelle and Étienne. Perhaps someday soon travel will be easier.”

“Yes,” said Diana. “Know we love you, too.”

They climbed into the two carriages bound for Marseille, trunks and valises secured, stocked with baskets of food from Madame Gravier. Everyone waved and blew kisses until Francis and Diana were out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a few liberties with the steamship accommodations, mostly because I truly cannot find much information about laundry facilities. I do know the ships carried tons of fresh water (literally), required for the steam engines among other things, but washing dirty diapers? I'm not sure, so I'm winging it. I do not doubt the (wo)manpower via servants and the capability existed. It is one of the aspects that feels strange, to write about the wealthy of that time, knowing the conditions that existed for the poor. But I do try to make the characters good people who are hip to that in their own 19th century way, and at least take very good care of those who work for them.


	44. Part 4 -- The Journey Home

**The Nineteenth of February, 1828**

_Balearic Sea, Off the Coast of Barcelona_

Everyone was pleasantly surprised by the size of the staterooms on the _SS Great North_. Each had two, single person sleeping berths, one above the other, a wash stand that opened out from the wall, a small settee, and an efficient armoire with both drawers and clothes hanging space inside. In addition to a small working porthole, the slatted doors provided ventilation, opening directly to the light and airy saloon, the common area for dining and socializing among the first-class passengers. Several times a day, they were allowed to go up and stroll the deck for air and exercise. The seas were fairly calm and no one save Georgiana had suffered any ill effects so far.

Charlotte and Georgiana had tea together in a quiet spot at the long table running the center of the saloon. “I thought you did not succumb to seasickness.”

“I don’t. It has another… origin.”

“Oh,” Charlotte gasped delightedly, “you are?”

“I am. Very poor timing, wouldn’t you say?”

“I know exactly how you feel. I was the same last June when Sidney wanted to make the trip. But now, despite everything, I am happy we did.”

“I had such a time with Georgie, as I know you remember. I’ve been avoiding another as best I could. I dearly hope this one is easier.”

“It should be, especially since you know what to expect. But tell me,” she said in a whisper, “how have you been avoiding it? Is there something you know that I do not?”

Georgiana laughed. “By avoiding _it_. I’m afraid that doesn’t make Otis very happy.”

“Oh, well, that is not… shall I say, not possible for me and Sidney. We take _measures,_ so there is over three years between Adam and this little one, but it isn’t ideal.” She straightened Justine’s cap.

Georgiana snickered and whispered back. “Yes, you two and your _afternoons_. Honestly, you are like newlyweds.”

“Georgiana!”

“You cannot honestly think you fool anyone. Why the afternoon? I’ve wondered that for years.”

Charlotte was in full blush now. “It isn’t only the afternoon...”

Georgiana guffawed. “Do tell.”

“Oh you, stop laughing. It happened that way with the children going down for a rest. There is plenty of light; Sidney likes that, and we aren’t tired. And we do not _always_ … many times we simply talk, discuss matters. It’s our private time.” She glanced around to be certain no one was listening.

“Yes, they enjoy _seeing_ us, do they not?”

“It _is_ mutual…”

“Why Charlotte Parker,” she smirked, “who knew?”

“Well, you cannot fault me for that.” She rolled her eyes and changed the subject. “How far along do you suppose you are?”

“Seven, eight weeks.”

“Does Otis know?”

“Now he does. He’s elated and hopes for a girl. But I’ll be losing Crockett shortly after the birth. I know I will never be able to replace her. I just have to grow up, Otis says.” She pouted a bit. “I have never been comfortable with changes in my life. He is probably right.”

“He must be in his element, here on board a ship.”

“He is. Perhaps we should go up on deck and join them? I am feeling much better now.”

The air above was fresh and sweet; the gleaming wooden boards of the ship deck glowed auburn in the afternoon sun. They had traveled mostly by wind power alone since departing Marseille, but were told that could change once they left the Mediterranean and headed out into the Atlantic. The two men stood like bookends, each holding a little son in their outside arm, Jay and Amelia standing between them. Otis was explaining the various sails.

Amelia spotted her mother and ran to her. “They have a cow and chickens aboard, Mama! Can you imagine that? I saw them.”

“Goodness! A cow and chickens? Did you have a tour?”

“We did, with the captain! Uncle Otis knows him.”

“Yes,” said Georgiana. “He mentioned such to me earlier.”

“Come,” said Amelia, “you must hear all about the sails.” She raced back to the others as Charlotte and Georgiana walked a bit more sedately.

Sidney turned to her and smiled, then held out his hand. “Mama!” said Jay, “we saw the engine!”

“Engine!” Adam squeaked.

“My, my, engines, a cow and chickens. And I missed all of it!”

“A bit impromptu,” said Otis, “I could arrange another tour if you like.”

“No, no, I am happy the children were able to see.”

“How beautiful it is this afternoon,” said Georgiana.

“I just want to remind you all, we will see rough weather. It is winter,” Otis said. “You’ll need your lee cloth for the berth, the railing will not be enough to keep one in place should we hit a good storm. They should be under the mattress. Check all the berths. If they are not there, notify the steward at once. Make sure Roland and the others know how to use them since they are rooming with the children.”

“What about Justine?”

“Hmmm… I would wrap a blanket or sheet around her and the basket, so she is secure in it, then keep her on the inside of the berth, between you and the wall.”

“Sound advice, thank you,” Sidney said, patting Otis on the back. He set Adam down and took Justine from Charlotte. “Now, shall we stroll a bit before we’re called back in? Jay, Amelia, look after your brother.” He gave his arm to Charlotte.

“Yes, Mr Parker, I would enjoy that.” She wrapped her arm through his. Otis set Georgie down and he walked between his parents, a hand in each of theirs. Jay and Amelia took Adam’s hands securely. The contented party commenced their promenade about the deck, nodded to other passengers, and looked out over the waves now tinged in rose and gold.

_Cumberland, Near Carlisle_

Jenny fluffed her pillow and snuggled back under the covers. “Everyone tried to keep it from me, but I could see with my own eyes. They share the same room, and Diana and Étienne are clearly in love. I am certain Isabelle’s real father is Étienne, not Francis.”

“But she is a Gilbert, is she not?” asked Alicia.

“Oh yes, Francis is her father legally, but he and Arthur are a _pair_. It was a marriage of convenience, to be sure.”

“So they are...? I thought it was a hanging offense.”

“That is why they are in France. The French do not care. It’s quite different down there.”

“I wish I could have gone, especially to Paris. But then I never would have spent a month with Frederick.”

“You really like him?”

“He is so handsome, Jenny, and so sweet, just the way Charlotte is. He listens, and he has a fine sense of humor. I do like him, very much.”

"How does he look now? I’ve not seen him for some time.”

“Quite tall, and strong, the way Uncle Sidney is. He has large brown eyes, much like Charlotte’s. He has a thick head of dark curls and lovely teeth.” She sighed. “I hope to see him again soon. Maybe he’ll come to visit when Charlotte and Sidney return. But what of that? I could scarcely believe the story mother told us all, about Jay nearly drowning and Sidney and all.”

“Oh, it was terrible. Poor little Jay. Then Charlotte having the baby the same day.” She shook her head. “But it all worked out. They must be out at sea by now.”

“And what do you think of Father?”

“He seems a little more, dare I say it, _sane_. Mother has been so worried. They’ve talked of putting him in a lunatic asylum, do you know that?”

“You should have seen him when he first arrived here. He looked and acted as if he belonged in one. So, so upsetting, Jenny. And you saw the portrait, the Admiral Nelson one? The boys said it was awful.”

“I thought Mother would either scream or weep. I don’t think she knew which one was the better response. It _is_ awful, Alicia. What was he thinking? As Mother said, why did he not have a family portrait painted? Do you realize we have none, and you and I are nearly grown.”

“I know. But Jenny, the good thing to come of all this, besides Father seeming better, is we’re friends again. I missed you; I truly did.”

“I missed you, too. Let’s not fight again, if we can help it. It’s so hard on Mother and always makes me feel awful.”

“Starting now. No more arguments. I agree. And you must be exhausted. Time for sleep.”

**The Twenty-First of February, 1828**

_Cumberland, Near Carlisle_

Mary took Alison's hands in hers. “Dear Alison, I don’t know how I can ever thank you for what you and Charles have done. You have given me back my husband. All your generosity and kindness. I shan’t be able to pay you back.” 

“You have no need to pay us back,” said Alison. “We are family. You would do the same for us. We have loved having your three children here. Charles adores having the boys around. All are welcome back anytime.”

The Parker carriage was packed. Charles gave Tom the gift of Darra, the lovely Irish Draught horse, and he would ride her all the way back to Sanditon. Mary, Arthur, Jenny and Alicia sat inside the carriage, while Henry and James rode atop. The mood was hopeful.

**The Twenty-Third of February, 1828**

_The Strait of Gibraltar_

“Are you awake?”

“Yes.”

“I loathe this.” He slipped down the ladder and into her berth.

“Justine is here.”

“I’ll put her on the settee for now. The seas are calm.”

“You know it is too small for both of us to sleep, Sidney. I fear you will hit your head again or stress your injury.”

He slipped back in. “I cannot stand to be away from you. Do you not miss me?”

“Of course I do, but how will we get any rest?”

“On our sides, come on, we fit together. We sleep this way all the time.” He pulled her back towards his chest. “There. Now I can sleep. Six days down, at least twelve to go. May the wind be with us."


	45. Rough Seas

**The Twenty-Fifth of February, 1828**

_Sanditon_

“It does not please you, then? You do not find it a good likeness?”

“Yes, the portrait resembles you well, Tom. That isn’t my concern.” Mary did her best to appear calm and conciliatory. “I simply wonder why you felt the need. I would rather have had a family portrait painted. We have none.”

“I had not thought of that,” mused Tom. “Sidney has family portraits, I suppose we should as well, though I always considered it a bit vain, as did our father.”

“On the contrary, such a painting is done as a tribute, and to remember our family. Is that not why the portrait of Sidney was painted?”

“Indeed, Mama was so unhappy he would be leaving for Antigua she commissioned the painting so she could have a likeness of him. The painter, I remember, was able to do sketches of Sidney before he left, but the work itself was painted after he was gone. I always thought it to be the reason the portrait did not truly resemble him. But it was proper, was it not Mary, to give it to Sidney?”

“Yes, certainly. But it seemed rather sudden, that is all.”

“I suppose, yes, rather sudden. I simply had too much time on my hands with all of you gone. It was quite lonely here.”

Mary looked at Arthur, who had been observing the exchange quietly from the doorway to the sitting room. “And what is to happen now, Tom? Now that you are more… more yourself again,” she asked.

“Happen? In what way?” He turned and noticed Arthur. “Arthur? What is to happen?”

“Well, I suppose we wonder if your equanimity will continue. If we will see more of the old Tom and less of the recent one,” offered Arthur in a soft voice.

“You do realize that you have not been quite yourself of late,” said Mary. “It seems being up north did you a world of good, and we all hope it continues.”

“That is true,” said Tom, gesturing with his index finger. “I did begin to feel very peaceful up there. I suppose I could think more clearly. I’d gotten a bit messy, yes, yes, I know that, unkempt. But I have a good valet now.”

Mary and Arthur again exchanged glances, neither sure exactly how far they should take the conversation. Tom settled it for them. “Perhaps I should take a ride. I’ll see if the boys are up to it.” He strode off, calling, “Henry? James? Shall we take a ride on the beach?”

Mary exhaled audibly, as if she had been holding her breath. “Will it last Arthur? He seems to be right on the edge. I fear to say anything that might push him over.”

He stroked his chin. “Francis would say… we must think like Tom. He decided to ride quite without reference to anything else. Was it that he felt anxious and knew riding would calm him? Something else to think about.”

“Soon it will be spring and all of the Sanditon planning begins. What will he do then? Go back to his madness?”

“I have a delicate question, and you can box me on the ear if you wish, but it may help me to understand. Let’s see, how do I put this? Is he the same with you in private? Is he as he always was or is he different there, too?”

“Ahh, yes. To be truthful, much changed right after the cricket match all those years ago, when I found he had not paid the workers and had been lying to me. He did try to make amends, but then after the fire… Nothing was the same after the fire, Arthur. Not Tom, not me or our marriage, not the children. Not his dealings with you and Sidney. That night, the fire, it was as if our world was cleft in two. We have never returned to the way it was before.”

“And Diana and I left with Francis for the continent within months. We’ve been gone more than we have been here. I am sorry I’ve been so little help. And now I will leave again. But Sidney will be home soon.”

“He and Tom clash so very much these days, Arthur, worse than ever before. It’s as if Sidney has lost patience, and I cannot say I blame him. Tom was horrible to him this past year.”

“Dear Mary, I know those two love each other, even if they argue. Sidney had the unenviable task of becoming his brother’s keeper. I remember so well when it all happened, when Francis formed the company and asked Sidney to manage it. He did not want to. He wanted only to be with Charlotte. But he loves his family, and felt a duty to protect you and the children, and Tom. That is who he is. I do fear it took a toll on him. And on Tom.”

“I do not fear; I know. I only hope they reconcile. I sometimes believe Sidney is more significant in Tom’s mind than I am.”

“Guilt? Jealousy? What could it be?”

“I wish I knew.”

_Southwest of Sines, Portugal_

They had left the lantern lit inside its wall cage. The ghostly light played back and forth across their stateroom as the ship heaved and rolled in the rough seas, the sounds of creaking and groaning wood nearly lost in the thunderous roar of the sea. Justine was out of her Moses basket and held tight in Charlotte’s arms. Sidney lay on the outside with his back to the lee cloth, his arms around both of them.

“I am so worried about them, Sidney, are you sure they will be all right?”

“I checked both rooms. They were safe, the cloths properly attached. Do you wish me to look again?”

“No. no, I’m simply being a worrier. We made it so far into the journey without this sort of weather, and now less than a day from Lisbon. I suppose it was inevitable. They will be fine.”

A loud banging came on the door. “Mr Parker! Mrs Parker!” It was Nanny Grey.

“Oh God,” whispered Charlotte.

Sidney opened the lee cloth and carefully rose, attaching it back, holding on to the upper bunk as he made his way to the door across the rolling floor. When he opened it, Nanny stood, braced in the doorway with Amelia, who was clad in only her nightgown, her hair disheveled, eyes wide and frightened. “Miss Haskell, she is very ill, there is a mess everywhere, sir, I cannot keep this little one in there.”

Sidney scooped Amelia into his arms. “Do you need help?” he asked.

“No, sir, I rang for the steward.” She held onto the wall and reached the door next to theirs, going back inside.

Charlotte leaned out of the lower bunk across the lee cloth. Sidney put Amelia down while he opened the cloth on the upper berth. Charlotte stoked her daughter’s frightened face. “It’s all right, sweet girl, you were very brave. Everything will be fine in the morning when the storm passes.” She gave her a kiss and Sidney picked her up, kissed her, and placed her in the upper berth.

“Move all the way back to the wall, you will be safe.” He covered her up and put the cloth back in place. “I’m going to check on the boys,” he whispered to Charlotte.

“Be careful! You are still not healed!”

He managed to put on his robe and slippers and went out into the saloon, dimly lit by two caged lanterns on either end. He held the wall to walk the two doors down to the boys, then knocked loudly. “Roland, will you open please?”

A few moment later Roland appeared, looking concerned. “We’ve had some problems next door. Is all well?” Sidney asked.

“Yes, sir. We’re all strapped in, sir.”

The ship lurched and nearly threw both men off their feet. “Papa!” Adam screamed. Sidney staggered into the room to the lower berth. Adam, panic-stricken, reached his arms out across Jay. “Papa!”

“I’ll take them to our cabin, Roland, it’s nothing you did. It will ease our minds.” He pulled Adam into his arms, and gave his hand to Jay. “Come on.”

“I’m not frightened, Papa, I will be fine.”

“Your mother is worried. Come with me.”

Jay clambered out reluctantly, and they went to the door and out, Sidney with Adam in his left arm, holding on to the wall with his right hand, Jay in front of him. In their cabin, Charlotte was out of the berth, talking to Amelia. She embraced and kissed both boys. Knowing Jay was too heavy for him to lift so high without aggravating his injury, Sidney said, “Climb the ladder quickly and get in,” as he lifted Adam up next to Amelia.

Jay reached the berth and balked. “No, it’s too crowded.” The ship lurched again and he would have fallen had not his father grabbed hold of him.

Sidney snarled, “For God’s sake Jay, do as I say, _now!”_

Jay lost all expression, a blank, pallid little face. He crawled into the berth next to Adam, Amelia against the wall. Sidney immediately felt regret. He covered the three up, then took Jay’s face in his hand. “I am sorry I spoke crossly. Everything will be all right. Try to sleep, we are just below.” He stroked Adam’s and Amelia’s heads, then secured the lee cloth. Justine began to whimper.

Charlotte scrambled into the lower berth while Sidney removed his robe and slid in next to her, securing the lee cloth behind him. He buried his face in her neck. “I never use that tone of voice with them.” he whispered.

“You were concerned,” she whispered back, “especially with all that has happened of late. He will be fine, Sidney; he _must_ learn to mind, for his own safety if nothing else.” Justine cried loudly now; Charlotte opened her gown and positioned her to nurse.

“It was insane to think returning by sea would be easier,” he whispered.

“It has been until now. All will be well, I’m sure of it. Think of the poor crewmen on deck.”

“Yes, you’re right.” He hung his chin over her shoulder so he could see Justine, reaching over to stroke her cheek with the back of his finger. “She’s a good babe, so rarely fussy.”

“Yes, when you consider what we’ve put her through. What do you think she’ll be like?”

“I wonder. So delicate and dainty. I know one thing though.”

“What is that?”

“She will be as beautiful as her mother and sister.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere until March.”

“I plan to wear you out come March.”

“Then you’ll have nothing left.”

“Lucky for me my wife has amazing powers of recuperation.” He nuzzled and kissed her across the shoulder and to her neck. She turned to meet his lips with hers. The ship rolled across the waves and into the night.

**The Twenty-Sixth of February, 1828**

_Lisbon, Portugal_

What woke Sidney at first light was not the rolling and creaking of the ship but the sound of engines and paddle wheels. He rose up on his elbow, removed the lee cloth and slipped out of the berth. Charlotte stirred and he covered her. All he could see out the porthole was fairly calm seas. The lantern was out, but when he turned back, he could see Jay’s face over the lee cloth. Sidney crossed and removed it. Jay put his head back down and they were nearly eye to eye. “I love you, my boy, you know I do,” Sidney whispered to him.

Jay nodded. “I’m sorry I was bad.”

“You are not bad. You simply need to understand that Mama and I ask you to do things for a reason, and you _must_ mind when we do.” He stroked Jay’s head and kissed his forehead. “Sleep a little longer. The seas are quiet now.”

He crawled back into the lower berth. Charlotte was awake and stretched out on her back. He slid on top of her. “All is calm,” he whispered, nestling into her neck.

“You see, just as I foretold.”

###

The ship steamed into the Port of Lisbon that afternoon for an overnight stop. Fresh water and food would be brought aboard. Some passengers disembarked, others arrived, cargo and mail off loaded and on loaded.

First the passengers leaving disembarked. Then the steward and crew cleaned the vacated rooms while the cargo was loaded and unloaded. The remaining passengers relaxed in the saloon, conversing, reading, playing cards. Sidney and Otis were discussing the previous night’s storm when Sidney heard a familiar voice, a deep rich voice speaking English with a German accent. He swiveled in his seat towards the direction of the voice, and there stood Count Mendorff.


	46. A Day in Lisbon

Still **the Twenty-Sixth of February, 1828**

_Lisbon, Portugal_

The first thought that ran through Sidney’s mind after seeing the Count was of Eliza. A great sadness overtook him, not for himself, but for Rudolph and the children, who now appeared alongside their father with a woman, who by her attire Sidney immediately identified as a nanny. The boy was older, perhaps Jay’s age or thereabouts, with Eliza’s fine features and large blue eyes, almost fragile looking. The girl must have been a bit younger than Amelia, but she resembled her father, robust and strong, already possessed of his feline grace. Both children had Rudolph’s ochre brown hair. After commotion and carrying on with trunks and valises and discussions with the steward, the Count surveyed the landscape, his eyes sweeping the saloon and landing on Sidney, who smiled and nodded. A broad smile broke on the Count’s face. “Mr Sidney Parker, what a surprise!”

They both rose and met each other half way. The Count clicked his heels and bowed. Sidney bowed back, then the two clasped each other on the shoulder. “How extraordinary to see you here,” said Sidney.

“Indeed! Are you alone?”

“No, my wife and children are here, as are our friends the Molyneuxs.” He gestured towards Otis.

“Splendid! I must get my children settled, but I look forward to visiting. You are on board until England, yes?”

“We are, returning from six months in France. But please, settle in. We planned to go ashore for the day. We will spend time later.”

The nanny called for the Count. He returned to his task, the two of them speaking German, the children running back and forth between their two cabins.

Sidney went back to where Otis sat. “Astonishing to see him here. He’s the one who married Eliza. I must tell Charlotte. Excuse me.”

Charlotte was with Nanny Grey and Haskell overseeing the sorting of clothing that required washing and what could remain until they arrived home. Sidney pulled her into the saloon. “The Count is here with his family, on the ship. Count Mendorff.”

“ _The_ Count?”

“Yes, we just spoke. Two children and a nanny. It doesn’t appear he has remarried.”

“Poor man. I feel so sad for him.”

“As do I. There will be time for you to know him, though, the duration of the voyage.”

“Nice for the children, I think, to have others on board.”

“I’m not sure they speak English. But no fears, children always find a way.”

###

_London_

“Here she is, a fine baby girl!” cried the doctor as he handed the babe to the midwife for drying and swaddling. “Well done, Lady Babington.”

Esther, her hair in flames across her shoulders, gasped in smiles of relief. Her husband still clutched her hand, his face flushed, eyes glinting with tears. When the midwife placed the infant on her mother’s breast, Babington burst into an ecstatic grin, barely able to contain his glee. “Look at that hair, as copper as yours, my love.” He covered both of them with kisses, then gently stroked Esther’s cheek.

“You are not shocked, I trust?” she asked with a tired smile.

“Not at all. I am filled with wonder. And reverence.” He put his lips to her ear, “And more love than I could ever imagine one heart could hold.”

###

_Lisbon_

Otis and Georgiana departed the ship first, taking Georgie with them. Otis had arranged to meet with a group of Portuguese abolitionists who were fighting to end slavery in the colonies, Brazil in particular, a Sisyphean task.

The day was temperate and sunny as the Parkers assembled up on deck, all six of them, as fine a family one would ever see. Sidney had embraced the newer styles of dress in a subtle way, his trim athletic build not requiring the male corset needed by most men to achieve the fashionable look of a narrow waist. Today he was attired in a dark blue woolen coat that narrowed at the waist, with a high shawl collar and a slight puff to the sleeves; light brown trousers tapering at the ankles with foot straps; and black square toed shoes. Underneath his coat was a brown silk waistcoat with a high collar, a dark blue silk cravat at his neck. And as always when they traveled, he carried under his coat the small leather satchel that held their papers and necessary items, the strap worn across his chest. On his head was a tall black silk hat with a curved brim, in his hand his trusty cane.

Charlotte was not happy with the showy trends in ladies fashion, the unnatural cinched waists, massive stuffed sleeves and voluminous skirts she saw everywhere in Paris. She longed for the freedom of those light and simple dresses with their high waists of her younger years. Today over a mother’s dress of blue Indian muslin, Charlotte wore a pelisse of violet silk taffeta with moderate gigot sleeves, rosette fastenings with gold buttons, a high collar topped in a ruff of white lace, and twisted cord appliques at the hem. Her wide brimmed hat was violet silk taffeta over a cane frame, white taffeta inside, trimmed with blue, white, and violet ribbons tied in a bow at the side, chestnut curls visible at her temples. She wore flat leather shoes, white gloves, and carried her reticule and blue silk parasol with feather trimming.

The boys both were dressed in blue and brown wool skeleton suits with wide, white linen collars and brass buttons, white stockings and flat shoes, leather caps with brims. Amelia in a brown woolen cloak over her blue silk dress with a high neck and lace collar, narrow waist with a wide ribbon, and full skirt ending below her knees, her frilly pantalets underneath, flat shoes on her feet, and a fine little straw bonnet with blue ribbons.

Passengers were required to stay below during the entry into the port and subsequent cargo exchange, so this was their first view of the city with its gleaming red tile roofs marching up the hills from the waters of the Rio Tejo. The customs officials viewed their passports, and after it was understood the visitors wished only to view the city for the day and would return to their ship that evening, they were granted entrance. And so the Parker family sauntered into Lisbon, all but one, Justine, who rode upon her folding metal and canvas pram in her Moses basket, Adam helping his parents to push.

Directly across from the docks and maritime buildings, was the Praça do Comércio, an immense public square in gleaming white marble, some of the surrounding buildings and monuments still under construction, part of the rebuilding of Lisbon after the 1755 earthquake, fire and tidal wave destroyed nearly all of it.

“You said this was a very old city,” said Amelia. “But everything is new.”

“This part, yes,” said her father. “The old buildings were destroyed in an earthquake.”

“What makes an earthquake?” she asked.

“We do not entirely know, pressure inside the earth that must be released somehow.”

“It was felt all the way to England I was told as a child,” said Charlotte.

“Will it happen again?” Amelia asked.

“I do not think we need to worry, Amelia,” said Charlotte.

At the end of the square, the Arco da Rua Augusta, an imposing triumphal arch of white marble was under construction. They passed by and continued up the Rua Augusta, a street paved in white and black marble mosaic in intricate designs. They passed another lovely square with trees, a lavish fountain, and benches, decided to stay a time. The children played and explored as their parents rested with on a bench with the baby. Amelia was fascinated by the mosaic tiles she encountered everywhere.

“It appears Amelia has formulated her one hundredth question of the day,” said Sidney.

“We need to give her as fine an education as the boys. I could not bear to see such a mind wasted on embroidery and piano.”

He smiled to himself. “Thank goodness yours was not.”

“You had no idea how poor I was at embroidery and piano when you said that.”

“Did we not agree we had each other wrong?”

“It is almost as if it happened in another life.”

“In a way it was exactly that. Our lives before this one.”

“Do you ever wish I were the sort of wife who sat with embroidery?”

He looked at her with a quizzical expression. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I believe I am.”

“Ha!” he said, shifting on the bench to look fully at her. “Charlotte Louise Heywood Parker, I can truthfully say there has not been one single moment since I first laid eyes on you that day on the clifftops with Mary when I thought to myself, _I wish she had some embroidery in her hands_.”

She fought not to laugh, but it escaped her. Then he laughed. “What ever were you thinking?”

“I simply wanted to make certain I met your needs, Mr Parker.”

“Because I am so very fond of embroidery.”

“Take care, I may take it up.”

“That will be the day. Met my needs. There isn’t another woman on earth who could meet my needs as you do. I only hope I meet yours.”

“There isn’t another man on earth who could meet _my_ needs as _you_ do.”

“So there, you see, we are perfect for each other. Now, where should we go?”

“In life or in Lisbon?”

“I was thinking of Lisbon, but we can discuss life as well if you like.”

“As long as we go together, I will go anywhere.”

“I’m happy to walk up the hill, slowly… do not worry… and see the Moorish castle. Then find a nice little café on the way back and have some coffee and sweets. Maybe more if the children are hungry. Then wander back to our ship and that godforsaken minuscule berth and practice for March. Build our stamina, you know.”

“Incorrigible.”

“That is why you love me.”

“There are far more reasons than that.”

“I would hope so.”

Three laughing children appeared before them, giggling and squirming. “Where do we go now?” asked Jay.

“We were just discussing that,” said their mother. “Would you like to see the ruins of an old Moorish castle?”

“What’s a Moor?” asked Amelia.

“One hundred and one,” said Sidney.


	47. Mountains to Climb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Harvest and canning time here. Hope the chapter is worth the wait. Many thanks, as always, for the lovely and insightful comments.

**The Twenty-Eighth of February, 1828**

_West of Vigo, Spain_

Count Mendorff and his family occupied two of the three staterooms left open when a group of French men of business departed at Lisbon. The third room was now taken by two young Englishmen returning from a long tour of the continent. Remaining aboard were an older Italian couple who spoke little English and kept to themselves, and a middle-aged French gentleman, Monsieur Ecard, who was polite and sociable on occasion.

The Count was quite formal, even slow to warm. He told Sidney he and the children had been wintering in Italy and taken an earlier packet ship, stopping off at Lisbon to visit friends. His destination now was London. Sidney and Charlotte surmised in private that he likely expected the journey would be a quieter experience and not the lively scene he found with four more children, an infant, and two gregarious couples. His children, however, delighted in the companionship. Wilhelm, a quiet, studious boy, was a few months younger than Jay. He spoke a good amount of English and found instant rapport with Amelia. Hannelore had just turned four, and joined with Adam and Georgie to form a merry trio who communicated in a mélange of English, German, gestures, and occasional babbling with seemingly great success.

By the third day aboard, Rudolph had settled in, perhaps seeing his children happily engaged with the others helped put him at ease. This morning, he and Charlotte were deep in a post breakfast discussion comparing Goethe’s _Faust_ with Shelley’s _Frankenstein_. Charlotte held Justine in her lap, the little babe awake and alert, reaching and yawning, cooing and gurgling. 

“Of course I have read only the English translation attributed to Samuel Coleridge, not the original German text, but I believe what is lost in translation is more the music, the meter of the language, not the substance of the narrative.”

“I agree, Frau Parker, both men allow themselves to be seduced, shall we say, by the unnatural… unholy desire for certain knowledge, which inevitably leads to their downfall.”

“Precisely, and in doing so they both violate nature and come to believe they are God-like. In the end, they both deeply regret what they have done…”

“They come to their senses, but is it too late? I must re-read this _Frankenstein_ novel, perhaps there is a German translation available now. My English does not always serve me well.”

“My dear Count, I find your English impeccable.” 

Sidney, Otis and the children entered the saloon, fresh from a walk on deck. “How is it?” Charlotte asked.

“Bracing,” said Sidney. “We’re fairly flying.”

“Ah,” said the Count standing, “I should get some air myself. Your fascinating lady has kept me at the table, Sidney.”

“She has a way, does she not?” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“Until later.” Rudolph bowed.

Adam slipped up to his mother’s lap and put his arms around his baby sister, “Tina.”

Charlotte looked up at Sidney, her eyebrows raised.

“Adam, can you say, Justine?” he asked.

Adam leaned his head against the baby and giggled.

Sidney sighed. “I see there is work ahead. All right my little fellow, off you go to Nanny now.” He tousled Adam’s hair and sent him on his way.

“He will say it eventually,” Charlotte said.

“Of course he will.” He sat in the chair next to her. “You are getting along well with the Count I see.”

“Yes, he is charming.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “We discussed Faust and Frankenstein.”

“My wife cares not for piano and embroidery; she reads and evaluates books.”

“You can blame my father for that.”

“I have only praise, no blame.” He stroked the palm of Justine’s tiny hand and let her grab hold of his finger. He leaned in to her and said, “How can it be you were so energetic on the inside and now so sweet dispositioned?” She cooed at him, eyes wide.

“She wanted out, to meets us. Now she’s happy. See how she knows her Papa's voice?”

Amelia came to the table with her slate and sat beside her mother. “What does Nanny have you working on?” Charlotte asked.

“I’m finished. Jay is still working… on arithmetic.”

“Is his the same as yours?”

“No, his is more difficult, but I can do it. Don’t tell Nanny.”

“Why should we not tell Nanny?” asked her father.

“Jay will feel bad if I am doing the same work.”

“So you are sparing your brother’s feelings?”

“I suppose so. Besides, Wilhelm is teaching me German.”

“Is that so? How did that come about?”

“Ummm, he showed me how to write his name, but it is spelled with a W. So I wondered why we call him _Vilhelm_ , with a V. He explained about German and I asked him to teach me. Wilhelm is William in German.”

“As Guillaume is in French, Étienne’s son, remember?” said her mother.

“Yes, I remember him. And Étienne is French for Stephen. He told me so.”

“Does Wilhelm speak French?”

“A little. Also Italian.”

The Count and his children returned from the deck above. Wilhelm trotted over to the table and bowed. “Herr Parker. Frau Parker. Fräulein Amelia, what do you work on?”

“It was arithmetic. Nothing right now.”

He studied her with his wide, blue eyes, the same as his mother’s, mottled light and dark. “Do you multiply and divide?”

“I can.”

“You are very young for such studies. Here is a problem for you to solve.” He took her slate and wrote: 23 X 2 =

Amelia looked at him and made a face. “You made it too easy. Even if I could not multiply, I can add in my head, 23 twice is 46. Now, may we work on German?”

Wilhelm laughed. “All right. We shall work on German.”

Justine was sleeping now. Charlotte rose to take her to their cabin. “Carry on. We’ll be inside if you need us.”

“It is uncanny,” Sidney said when he shut the door, “how very much he looks like Eliza.”

Charlotte nestled Justine into her basket. “How do you feel?”

“Well, sad of course, the children have no mother. He has no wife.”

“Have you spoken to him about it?”

“No, not yet. And perhaps not ever. He is not an easy fellow to know. And in truth, I did not have a substantial friendship with him to begin with. Certainly not as Francis did, and does.”

“I will never forget the day I saw her in Paris. How different she was from my first encounters with her. Transformed.”

“She finally found happiness with Rudolph, though sadly brief. You recall she told me something of her marriage to Campion, way back then. She was quite miserable. He was old and often disagreeable. It changed her, I believe, along with her desire for wealth. But we all make our decisions in life, do we not?”

She slid her arms underneath his, up his back, and held onto his shoulders. “And you are happy with yours?”

“There are no words to describe how happy I am. And tomorrow is March.” He ran his hands down her sides.

“No, tomorrow is February 29.”

“Blast, a leap year. I completely forgot. Well, no matter. I am determined, Mrs Parker.”

“Are you?”

He fixed his eyes on hers. “You have no pain?”

“No.”

“No more bleeding?”

“No.”

“Well then…”

“My concern is not for me.”

“I can lift the children. I have no more discomfort when I laugh or sit up. _And_ I walked up that steep hill in Lisbon without any ill effects.”

“Are you comparing me to a steep hill?”

“You? A steep hill?” He traveled his hands down to her rump, fingers spread out, caressing in circles. “You, my dearest Charlotte, are Mount Olympus, the abode of the gods.”

She smiled and brushed her lips against his. “If I am Mount Olympus, then who are you?”

“Whomever you wish me to be.”

“You give me that much power?”

“I gave you that much power nearly nine years ago.” He walked her backwards to the wall and pressed his hips against her, holding her there, his lips and tongue and teeth caressing her lips, her jaw, her neck. “I will make my ascent of the divine mountain oh so reverently, and lovingly…” He whispered into her ear, “…and very, _very_ slowly.”

“When?” she breathed, her eyes half closed.

“Now?” He began to pull up her skirt.

“Ma- _maa!”_ Adam called at the door.

She put her head back against the wall and laughed out a sigh, “I will be there in a moment.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “All right, I yield to my second son… tonight then.”

_Sanditon_

“Be reasonable, Tom. As a member of the Sanditon Management and Holding Company, I must advise you against incurring more debt.” Arthur and Tom quarreled in Tom’s study as Mary looked on in despair.

“You cannot stop me from mortgaging Bedford Place. You have no control there. This will be Sanditon’s tenth anniversary summer, the tenth regatta… we must prepare, and I need the funds to do it.”

“It is true, Tom, we should make it a gala summer,” cajoled Mary, “but I am sure Sidney will know how to do so without taking a loan on Bedford Place. He will be home in less than a fortnight.”

“Of course,” Tom bristled, his disheveled hair nearly covering one eye. “Sidney to the _rescue_ , always _Sidney_. Perhaps you married the wrong brother, my _dear_ , you would have been much happier with _Sidney_.”

Mary crossed to him and paused, her expression dark with disgust. She pulled her arm back and slapped him full across the face with all her might, causing him to reel backwards and nearly lose his balance. “How _dare_ you, Tom Parker,” her voice cold steel. “How dare you insult in such a _despicable_ manner your wife of nearly eighteen years, the mother of your children, and your own brother?” Her eyes blazed at him, her face flushed scarlet.

Tom pressed his palm to his cheek, his eyes wide and startled. “Mary, I…”

“No. I am done with you. _Done_. Do you hear?” She turned and strode from the room.

“Mary…” he called after her. After a moment he turned his attention to Arthur, who stood in shock and dismay. “This is your doing. Yours and Sidney’s.”

Arthur considered his eldest brother standing before him looking every inch a madman. Somewhere deep inside Arthur Parker’s sweet and temperate soul, a resolve formed. “Sit down, Tom.”

“You cannot tell me what to do.”

“Sit down, Tom, or I will strike you twice as hard as Mary just did.”

“You would not dare.”

“Wouldn’t I? I am also done with you, and I have not had to endure your madness the way Mary, your children, and Sidney have.”

Tom threw himself into the nearest chair, half pouting, half raging. “So, you think I am mad, do you? Insane? A lunatic?”

“What do you think you are?”

“A man held in chains by his damnable brother and his equally damnable friend.”

“I will not attempt to once again explain to you how your brother saved you from your own folly and stupidity. But I will say this: without Sidney you would be nine years now in debtor’s prison, working menial labor to pay your creditors; this house and everything in it, your Sanditon properties, our ancestral home, Bedford Place all auctioned long ago for a fraction of their worth. Your wife and children would be living far beneath their standards, depending on kindness and charity from others.”

“Nonsense. I would have found the money.”

“You know very well you would not have. You have a choice, Tom, between Sanditon and your wife, family and sanity. I give you until this evening to decide. Should you choose Sanditon, I will take Mary and the children away from here, for good if she wishes. If you protest to the courts, I will present the case for your madness, and you will be committed to a lunatics asylum. Should you choose your wife and family, I will take you north, to York, to a hospital where they will attempt to restore your sanity through humane means. You will be treated with kindness and dignity. You can choose to commit yourself for a period of time.”

“I cannot leave Sanditon during the season.”

“Then your wife and family will leave you forever. The choice is simple, Tom. Until this evening at 6 o’clock.” With that, he left to find Mary and advise her to begin packing for a permanent move to Westerly Manor.

###

Justine was safely wrapped in her basket, secured on the lower berth. Her parents occupied the upper, joined reverently, lovingly, and very, _very_ slowly in their private dance as the ship gently rocked into the night. And in the following weeks, when Charlotte voiced concern as Sidney returned to his regular activities such as riding and sea bathing, he reminded her, not always slowly, he had already climbed Mount Olympus.


	48. Heading North

**The Third of March, 1828**

_On the Road to York_

Tom Parker was not entirely sure how he ended up in his carriage with his brother and two sons, heading for a hospital up north. _His_ carriage, mind you, with his initials painted on the doors. Perhaps in the end, it was the sight of Mary supervising the packing in preparation to leave forever, refusing to even look at him, her lovely face livid with rage and revulsion. He assumed Arthur the Meek had been bluffing, but one look at Mary told him otherwise.

He had gone back to his study and ruminated among the wreckage of his life for those few hours before Arthur’s deadline, contemplating the disarray of his world. On every flat surface sat models of Sanditon in various parts and incarnations, some made real, some not. Sketches were scattered about, some tacked to the walls, for a beer hall, for a grand hotel, and now for the gala tenth anniversary regatta that would feature a reenactment of the battle of Trafalgar. Why not? The Romans did so. He needed to dam up the river to create a lake with full seating all around, his very own coliseum, and build replicas of the navies of Britain, France and Spain. He himself would play Admiral Nelson, why he’d already practiced his death scene more than once. So of course he needed the funds. All would be abandoned if he went to York.

He always said Mary and the children were his life, and yet… in truth, Sanditon, his _creation_ , had taken their place. After the fire, at Old Stringer’s burial, he had told Mary he was a vainglorious fool, but she would not hear it. She believed in him she had said.

She did no longer.

His passion for his creation, now his monster, killed everything he loved. He was a broken man, and he knew it. He put his own ambition above his love for his family. A small window of lucidity opened in his cluttered, confused mind. Arthur was correct. It was a simple choice. If this hospital could bring him back to his old self, a self he only vaguely remembered at times, perhaps it was worth a try. After all, what good would his gala tenth anniversary be if his family were not there to share in his glory?

He had sought Arthur out to ask for details of the place, this hospital. There were no chains or manacles, and physical punishment was banned, Arthur told him. Patients wore their own clothing, and engaged in handcrafts, writing, reading books. They were allowed to wander freely around the courtyards and gardens where they had labors to perform as part of their personalized treatment. They socialized and prayed and visitors were welcome.

“How will I pay for it?” Tom asked.

“You need not worry. All will be paid for,” said Arthur. He dared not mention Sidney’s name.

“Who will manage the summer season here in Sanditon?”

“We all will. Your family, Tom. Do not let it concern you.”

“How long will I be gone?”

“I do not know. I suppose however long it takes for you to recover.”

“Very well, if I must, I will go.”

_Southwest of Brest, France_

Why the evening meal had become such a joyous occasion Georgiana was not entirely sure. Perhaps because the ship was nearly three days ahead of schedule, everyone in the first class staterooms, including servants, felt a cause to celebrate. Certainly those in steerage would. Even the crotchety old Italian couple, Signore and Signora Corelli, and solemn Nanny Grey laughed and sang as Monsieur Ecard played his violin.

The children were jolly as could be, all six of them holding hands and dancing and skipping around the saloon table in the narrow aisle between the cabin doors. The two young Englishmen were a bit in their cups, but harmless enough. It did not matter that few knew the tune no less the words to the French folk songs Monsieur Ecard fiddled so vivaciously. Everyone sang some version of the song, and to Georgiana’s ear, it was not half bad. Even the elusive Crockett and Offiah joined in.

When the music ended and the violin returned to its case, the mood wound down, children were whisked off to bed by nannies, and the number of passengers in the saloon decreased. Monsieur Ecard took a seat next to Sidney. “You are a wine merchant I understand?” he asked.

“Not quite. I import and export numerous commodities, goods from Britain, wine, oils, even iron ore. I recently entered a partnership with a friend in the Var. I will be importing his wines and bottling them in England with exclusive license.”

“Admirable. I have a friend who is exploring the wines made in the new world. America is beginning to produce wine. The monks in the old Spanish territories, now part of Mexico, have been growing grapes and making wine for over a century. Ideal climate, I am told.”

“I imagine as ships become faster yet and population and demand grow, your friend might be at the beginning of a very lucrative business. I wish him luck.”

“D'accord. The world we pass to our children will be quite different than the one we know.”

“Indeed. I was recently thinking exactly so.”

“Well, off to sleep for me, mon ami.”

“Thank you for the music. We all enjoyed it.”

“Merci. Bonne nuit.”

**The Fourth of March, 1828**

_Northwest of Brest, France_

Charlotte was half awake when Justine began to fuss from the lower berth. She lifted Sidney’s arm and started to move, but in his sleep he immediately pulled her back to him. “Sidney, she is crying.”

He rose through the layers of sleep and asked drowsily, “Shall I fetch her?”

“I was going down.”

“I will bring her to you. I’m on the outside.” He rubbed his eyes and tossed off the covers, slid his long legs over and down to the floor.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“It isn’t even two feet once I’m over the side.” He unwrapped Justine and lifted her from the basket, murmuring softly, then placed her up on the top berth, climbing up the ladder afterward.

Charlotte crossed her legs and leaned against the wall, putting Justine to her breast.

“However,” he said, sitting beside her, “many happy returns, my love. And as it is the thirty-first anniversary of your birth, and you must wait until we return home for your gift, I will refrain from jumping off the berth as an interim. Does it suit you?” He nuzzled her ear.

“I merely wish to have you whole, without injured limbs.”

“Ah, you need not worry. We will be home very soon anyway. How fine it will be to sleep in our own bed again.” He put his arm about her and shifted her over so she could lean against him.

“Will Evans know to come early?”

“He knows to watch for the notice, and that we could be days early or late. The packet companies always put an advertisement in the papers to announce the date of arrival. The house will be ready for us, and I specified the crib should be placed in our chamber. All the other servants should be back from their leave by now.”

“Over six months. We have been away a very long time. I wonder how Tom is.”

“It’s been both maddening and blissful not to know anything these past weeks at sea. But I trust Arthur to do the right thing, and I know he would act only according to Mary’s wishes.”

“I am grateful it was Arthur and not you. We have enough in our lives at the moment, and you have already done so much for Tom.”

“Yes, and I must put time into my work when we return. I hope all is resolved by then.”

“And what if it is not? What happens?”

“I wish I knew. Much would be up to Mary, I suppose. How much is she willing to shoulder? I will do whatever she wants, but I will draw the line if she is allowing herself or the children to be harmed by his behavior. I do not think she will.”

“Surely she and Arthur have talked this out. They should be long back from Cumberland.”

“They should, yes. But there is nothing we can do at this moment, so let’s think of more pleasant things. This beautiful little child here with her beautiful mother.”

“Her ancient mother,” she smirked.

“Yes, old woman of mine. How shall we celebrate your day?”

“Choices are limited, but I’m sure we’ll think of something. You have a gift for me at home, you said?”

“Yes…”

“What is it?”

“You have to wait.”

“But it’s my birthday; you are required to tell me.”

“Are those the birthday laws? Never heard of them.”

“So you will not tell?”

“Never.”

“No matter. It will simply make homecoming that much sweeter.” She tilted her head back to kiss him.

_The Retreat, York_

Tom, Henry and James toured the grounds of The Retreat, a large compound of red brick buildings in a pastoral, peaceful landscape, while Arthur conversed with the hospital’s director.

“It is important we have as much background information as possible, Mr Parker, and as the patient is not always a reliable source, we appreciate your willingness to fully inform. Of course everything you tell me here is in the strictest confidence.”

Arthur observed the man across the desk from him, Mr Samuel Tuke, grandson of William Tuke, founder of the hospital. A middle-aged man with a serious but kindly face, dressed in the simple way of the Quakers. Arthur believed he was worthy of trust. “I suppose the best place to start is the beginning,” he said. 

“Fine,” said Mr Tuke. “What was your brother’s nature as a child? We can begin there.”

“That I could not tell you first hand, as he is twelve years my senior. But he has always been an exuberant fellow, planning what to do next before he’s started his current task. He is a creative sort, and quite talented as well.”

“Moody would you say?”

“Yes, I am afraid so. He can jump from elation to doom in a heartbeat at times.”

“Forgive me if I do not always attend directly during our conversation. I take notes as you speak, for my reference.” He was indeed scribbling away in a leather bound notebook.

“Of course.”

And so it was, Arthur Parker explained to a complete stranger the details of Tom Parker’s life and the Parker family. His inheritance as first son and marriage to Mary. Selling the family business to fund his dream of making Sanditon a resort to rival Brighton. Of his hidden mounting debts. His unrelenting obsession with the project. The fire and all that ensued. Sidney and Eliza and Charlotte, the management company solution. Tom’s intensifying resentment of Sidney as he overrode the new projects Tom proposed, each more outrageous than the last. And finally Tom’s descent into chaos. The Admiral Nelson portrait. His undisguised animosity for Sidney. He talked of how Tom appeared to be more stable when in Cumberland, but as soon as he returned to Sanditon, his madness returned stronger than ever.

And when he was finished, Mr Tuke quietly reviewed his notes, asking questions now and then. He looked squarely at Arthur. “We can never know in the beginning how successful we might be with a patient. Your brother has been in this state for some time, which could prove a problem. We have found some enjoy their unstable condition. They do not wish to recover. People such as they we cannot help. A patient must desire the return to sanity.”

“I understand. He did ask me about the length of treatment. I replied it would be as long as needed for him to recover.”

“And that is truthful, Mr Parker. Now, I am hoping you and Mr Tom Parker’s sons will be able to stay for a day or two, to help settle him in.”

“We will stay as long as necessary.”

**The Sixth of March, 1828**

_Northeast of Guernsey_

The ship’s captain expected arrival at Southampton by mid-morning the next day. A general weariness mixed with anticipation had settled in over the passengers, part relief, part eagerness. Wilhelm shyly approached Amelia. “May I be permitted to write you?”

“Of course. I would enjoy it.”

“We travel, so I am often in different places, but I should enjoy hearing back from you. We will be in London for a month or so, at my mother’s house. Hannelore has never seen it, and I only remember a little. Perhaps if your family is in London you could visit?”

“Or you could visit Sanditon. I will ask my Papa.”

“Where should I write you?” He handed her his notebook and a pencil.

She wrote: Amelia Parker, The Old Parker House, Sanditon, Sussex, England

He grinned. “I have never before met a girl such as you, Amelia Parker.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you are not silly as other girls. You are very quick in the mind.”

She smiled at him. “Let us agree to always be friends.”

“Yes, always.” He took her hand and squeezed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a few liberties here with The Retreat, but I don't think they are too off the mark.


	49. Home Again -- The End of Part 4

**The Seventh of March, 1828**

_The English Channel_

“It appears our daughter has captured her first heart,” Sidney said, nodding in the direction of Amelia and Wilhelm, who stood together at the ship’s railing, observing the waves.

“Sidney, she is five and he is not yet seven. They simply share a love of studies and conversing. She says she enjoys that he is not a ‘rough and tumble’ sort.” Charlotte bounced Justine gently against her.

“I know a smitten boy when I see one, Mrs Parker. He asked permission to write her. And asked if we could visit them in London. Amelia wishes to invite them to Sanditon.”

“I think they will have a fine friendship. It is harmless and rather sweet. If it becomes something else ten or twelve years from now... we shall see. You read too much into it, protective Papa. Certainly we could invite them to Sanditon. I’m not sure about going to London, though. I suppose you will before too long.”

“Yes, I am sorry, but I must. I’ll have to start up the business again and prepare for the new venture. We can all go together, you know.”

“I am so tired right now I can barely think about the ride from Southampton no less to London and back.”

“Depending on how long they keep us in customs, I assume we will stay in Chichester tonight.”

Jay and Adam, who had been trotting around the deck together and playing jumping games, came back into their parents’ orbit, Adam giggling and giddy. “What’s all this silliness of late?” asked Sidney, lifting Adam into his arms. “Who is this boy? Where is my Adam?”

Adam pointed to himself. “I’m Adam.” 

“Adam who?”

“Adam _Parker!”_ He attempted to become a very serious three year old for a few seconds, then doubled over in giggles again.

“I told you; he is a handful,” said Jay.

Charlotte hugged Jay with her free arm. “Says the other handful. My rough and tumble boys.”

“Your brothers are rough and tumble boys, too, Mama.”

“They are. It is my fate.”

“Were you, Papa?”

Sidney looked out at the sea and tamped down a smile. “Oh, I’ve been known to be so on occasion.” He caught Charlotte’s eye as he set Adam back on his feet. She rolled hers.

“Will we ride when we return home?” asked Jay.

“Perhaps later in the month.”

“Will we take Adam?”

“Yes, it’s time. What do you think, Adam? Would you like to ride Apollo with me?”

Adam’s eyes opened wide as he stared up at his father. “On the big horse?”

“On my horse. Jay was about your age when I first took him.”

Adam looked at his mother. She nodded. He looked back at his father, and as if seeing him in a whole new light, stood as tall as he could. “Yes, go riding with you, Papa.”

_The Retreat, York_

Tom was comfortable in his room, and after two days, Arthur and the boys felt it was fitting to leave him. They prepared to depart when Mr Tuke approached.

“Mr Parker, I am so relieved I caught you in time. Could I have a word?”

“Certainly. Here or in your office?”

“Here is suitable. I have had a detailed discussion with the staff, and we find it telling that your brother’s state improved in Cumberland. Can you tell me the source of the drinking water there, where he stayed?”

“I do not know, but Henry would.” He motioned Henry from the carriage. “Where does the water at the Copeland’s come from?”

“The water?”

“The drinking water,” said Mr Tuke.

“There is well water that is used for washing, and for the animals. There is a creek that is used for irrigating the fields and sometimes for the horses. And the water used for drinking and cooking comes from a spring up the hill from the farm.”

“A natural spring, one that comes directly out of the earth?”

“Yes, out of the rocks. It is very clean and has a good taste.”

“Why do you ask?”

“It has been theorized, all the way back to the ancient Greeks, that alkaline water, especially spring water, can ease the effects of mania. We do not know why. Natural springs are abundant in this part of the country, each one slightly different, but all full of minerals and other substances. The study of the chemistry of the human body is fledgling at best. Many use opiates to treat mania, but we feel it is too dangerous with the addictive element, and tends to make the depressive state worse if one follows. We simply wish to explore all options.”

“So you believe it was the water?” asked Arthur.

“I believe it is possible the lessening of symptoms was due to something in that particular water coupled with the bucolic scene and close proximity to horses, another therapy documented by the Greeks, and being away from the source of his agitation, the very town he lives in. Do you think I could have the address of your family there, in Cumberland, to contact them and perhaps get a sample of the water?”

“Certainly. Henry, would you give Mr Tuke the Copeland’s address?”

_Southampton_

It was half past eleven when the customs officials finished clearing all the luggage. Three carriages awaited the weary travelers, the Molyneux’s, and two for the Parkers. The Count’s manservant had set out to hire one for the journey to London. The children's moods dropped considerably when they realized it was time to say goodbye.

The friends bid each other farewell as their belongings were loaded.

“You take care and rest. Know this one will be easier,” Charlotte said to Georgiana. “Will we see you this summer?”

Georgiana looked at Otis. “Are we game for the tenth Sanditon summer, Mr Molyneux?”

“I cannot see why not.”

“Well then,” said Sidney, “the summer it is.” And to the Count, he said, “I hope you will visit us before you leave. Anytime, our door is open.”

“So kind of you. How wonderful our chance meeting has been. I hope we can continue.” He bowed, took Charlotte’s hand and kissed it, repeating with Georgiana’s. “Ladies, thank you for the pleasure of your company.” His manservant arrived in the hired carriage, and after shaking hands with Sidney and Otis, Rudolph set about his own preparations.

Sidney embraced Otis “I cannot begin to thank you for all you’ve done for us, with Jay, the sea voyage, the hospital for Tom. You are a true friend.”

“You would do the same for me in a heartbeat, of that I am sure.”

###

The three children sat on one seat in the Berline, their parents and baby sister in her basket occupied the other. In the second carriage were Nanny, Haskell, Roland and a greater load of luggage. “From Mary,” Sidney said, taking out a letter the driver brought.

Charlotte leaned into him as he opened the seal and they read together.

_6 March, ’28 Sanditon_

_Dear You Two,_

_How grateful we are to hear of your safe homecoming! I know you will be busy upon your return, so I am sending this along with your carriage. Our journey back was quick and thankfully uneventful. In fact, the Diligence was not half as unpleasant as we had feared. We stayed at Trafalgar House for a few days to catch our breath, then proceeded up to Cumberland to bring back Tom and the other children. He was as Alison had described, less agitated, able to converse as he used to, and capable of paying attention to those around him. Not entirely his old self, but a vast improvement from last summer. Alison and Charles were so very generous, I know not how I shall ever repay them. Charles even gifted Tom a horse, Darra, and he rode back the entire way._

_Sadly I must report that within days of our return to Sanditon, Tom’s condition returned as well, even more severe than before. He set his mind on mortgaging Bedford Place to fund an outrageous scheme for the regatta this year. As the company did not have any dealings with the London house, he realized he had no restraints regarding loans against it. I cannot even begin to describe the folly he had planned. A reenactment of the Battle of Trafalgar! He would dam the river and create a large lake with viewing stands all around, build replicas of warships big enough for men to ride upon. Oh my dears, it was madness. I shall not elaborate on the particulars here, but suffice to say we had a battle ourselves, and Arthur gave him an ultimatum. Wisely, Tom chose the hospital in York, where he is now. Arthur and the boys have not yet returned, but are due in the next day or two. I do believe it is for the best._

_I am sure you will have a letter waiting for you, but let me give you some good news. Lady Babington safely delivered a baby girl on 26 February. Both Esther and little Cordelia are healthy._

_When Arthur returns, he and I will call on you, unless you happen to come to Trafalgar House before then, which of course you are most welcome to do if you wish._

_Godspeed to you as you begin this last leg of your journey._

_Your loving sister,_

_Mary_

“I do not know what to say.” Sidney shook his head.

“But he is in York. That is what is most important.”

“Yes, but still… _dam the river?”_ He looked out the window, quickly lost in his thoughts.

“You should know that Phoebe, Anthony and Marcus have a new baby sister, Cordelia,” Charlotte said to the children.

“Just as we do,” Amelia smiled. 

**The Eighth of March, 1829**

_Sanditon_

After a night in Chichester, the carriages pulled into the drive at the old Parker House shortly after one o’clock in the afternoon. There followed a flurry of activity. Many greetings from the staff, much admiring of little Justine, happy dancing children, luggage unloaded. Charlotte and Sidney quickly changed from their travel clothes, Sidney heading outside to converse with Evans and Bainbridge, Charlotte supervising the unpacking. She tasked Nanny to see all three children were bathed and dressed in fresh clothing, and all clothing brought home in the luggage to be sorted and washed. Justine’s napkins were to be thoroughly washed, boiled and dried in the sun. After three weeks of napkin washing on a ship, Nanny was happy to pass that chore on to the maid of all work.

After Haskell and Roland finished with Sidney and Charlotte’s luggage, she had warm water and a large basin brought to bathe Justine, who smiled and gurgled and splashed. “You are home, my little traveler.” When bath time was finished and Justine had nursed, Charlotte tucked her in. “The first time in your own crib.”

Sidney came up behind her. “Sleeping?”

“Yes. Bathed and fresh.”

“Come.” He took her hand and led her into their adjoining sitting room. They silently went to a settee against an inner wall, each taking an end and moving it out and away. Sidney felt along under the chair rail of the wainscoting and pressed. A wainscot panel popped ajar, becoming a door revealing a small hidden alcove with an iron chest. She handed him his keys from the leather satchel. When the iron chest was unlocked and opened, he brought out first her ring of keys, then her jewelry box, followed by his business ledgers and bank account books. Lastly he retrieved a smaller metal box and opened it. “Hand me the papers will you?” Inside the metal box went their passports, Justine’s birth certificate, the notes of credit from his bank, the medical summary from Dr Mermoz, his contract and other papers with Étienne. “I’ll sort them later.” He put the metal box back inside and brought out one more item, then locked the safe. When the panel was closed and latched again, they moved the settee to its proper spot.

He took a seat and pulled her into his lap. “Time for your first gift.”

“First? There is more than one?”

“Close your eyes.” In her hand he placed an open ring box. “All right, look now.”

Her opening eyes went wide. “Sidney! Are they diamonds?”

“Thirty-one.”

“It is too much…”

“Charlotte, they are small, all but the center one. You had no diamonds in a ring. Now you do.”

She took the ring from its box. A cluster of diamonds in a round face, eighteen small rose cut white diamonds on the outside circle, twelve grouped in pairs on the inner, and one large stone at the center, all prong set in silver as was the fashion to accentuate the fire of the gemstones, the band yellow gold. “It is so beautiful.”

“Here. Put it on.” He slid it over the ring finger of her right hand. “Perfect fit.”

“You spoil me.”

“Of course I spoil you. It’s my mission in life. You must allow me to.”

“But I cannot reciprocate.”

“My dearest Charlotte.” He put his finger under her chin and brushed her lips gently with his. “You have given me gifts far more precious than any gem, our children, our family.” He kissed her again, deeper this time. “Now, would you like to see your second gift?”

“All right.”

He led her to the long table near the window where sat a large packet with James Stringer’s firm as the return address. “It’s as much for me as you, I confess. But it will not happen without your approval.”

“Another addition?”

He spread the drawings out over the table. “A bathing room.”

“A bathing room?”

“Yes, adjacent to our chamber, all tiled with a very large permanent tub… easily room for both of us. Then a shower, similar to Dr Fuchs’, see here, with a boiler that heats the water. You can use it by hand, or hook it up above and stand under it. And two large built in washing basins on a tiled surface. Enclosed chamber pots so they are away from the bed chamber. And best of all, the water from the tub and basins is piped away out of the house, down the hill, and into a dry well in the orchard area so it is slowly absorbed. What do you think?” He grinned at her.

“I am speechless.”

“Good speechless or… not?”

She looked at him almost in disbelief. “I never in my wildest dreams would have imagined you were planning this. You have completely surprised me, Sidney Parker.”

“Ha! Did I? But do you approve?”

She opened her mouth and closed it again. He started to laugh. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes. Yes. I think it sounds marvelous.”

“And two more rooms on the children’s wing. As long as we were adding on… given our… _proclivities._ ” He leaned in and kissed along the back of her neck. “We’re home.”

“I want a bath first. I wish our bathing room were already built.”

“All right. I’ll call for a bath set up in here so we won’t disturb Justine. You take your jewelry box to our chamber and meet me in the study. There’s something you need to see while we wait.” He kissed her on the forehead, then gathered up his ledgers.

When she entered the study he was arranging them in his desk drawer. “Ah, there you are. Behold.” He gestured to the portrait of himself that leaned against the wall.

“So he did bring it here.”

“Yes, he did.”

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s a terrible likeness.”

She laughed. “This was the first I ever saw of you, I’ll have you know, not minutes after I’d first entered Trafalgar House. I thought you were _terribly_ handsome and that you looked at me approvingly. Then when I saw you in person, I knew the portrait did not do you justice. You were far more than handsome.”

“You are simply trying to butter me up.”

“It’s true.”

I never saw it completed until I returned from Antigua. I told you my mother had it commissioned to remember me by. My dear sweet mama.”

“And it has come back to you. So be it. Where should we hang it? In here?”

“God no, I have no desire to look at myself. We’ll find a place. But we do need another family portrait painted, now that we have two more children since the last one. Perhaps this summer?”

Back in the sitting room, their bath was ready. The servants put up the screens and left. Sidney took a seat and washed Charlotte’s hair, pouring pitchers of clean water over until she was satisfied. Then he stripped his own clothes and entered the tub, settling behind her so she leaned against him. They soaked and talked until the water turned cool. She stood to get out but he stopped her. “Mount Olympus before me.” He nipped her cheek.

“Oh, you.”

“Can I not ogle my own wife’s wet derrière when it’s in front of me?”

“You can let me out so we can dry and you can ogle it all you want on the bed.”

“I agree with that.”

“I thought you would.”

She sat toweling and combing her hair while he stretched out on his back. “This is a fine bed. I am very happy to be here, aren’t you Mrs Parker?”

“The bed in Saint-Tropez was very fine, too. But it was not our bed. I suppose that makes a difference.”

“Should I plait your hair for you? I would rather not have Haskell come in.”

“Do I have to pay you extra?”

“My bill is rising by the moment.”

And there they stayed until Justine woke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As several of you have surmised, my take on Tom's mental condition is bipolar disorder, which can lead to delusions of grandeur and other symptoms that come to resemble Narcissistic Personality Disorder when the person is in a manic state. The medical situations I describe in this and following chapters are accurate to the era.
> 
> An added note -- Nov 25, 2020. Two and a half months after I wrote this story, Kris Marshall, who played Tom Parker, said in a Q&A on Twitter that bipolar disorder was their "diagnosis" for Tom.


	50. Part 5 -- Jiggity-Jig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've so enjoyed the lively, thoughtful conversation. So many thanks!

**The Tenth of March, 1828**

_Sanditon_

Life at the old Parker House regained a semblance of normalcy after two days. The day before, Sidney sent a note to Mary informing her of their safe arrival, assuring they would call soon. In the early afternoon, Sidney and Charlotte, with Justine, set off for Trafalgar House in the curricle, clipping along the grassy coast road towards town.

“Have you thought to take Amelia riding?” Charlotte asked.

“Does she wish to ride?”

“She rode a pony at Alison’s, and Emily rides, she’s not even a year older than Amelia.”

“Emily lives on a horse farm. It would seem odd if she did not ride. And it might take some convincing for Jay to let his sister ride Titan.”

“He should learn to share, after all, Titan was not exclusively a gift for him. But meanwhile, you could take her with you, as you plan to with Adam. She can ride astride; I did when I was a girl.”

“You also excelled at hunting when you were a girl, something I am quite sure Amelia has no interest in. Perhaps we should ask her. She is not the same temperament as you, or me for that matter.”

“I agree, we should ask her. How do you see her temperament now, at five?”

“Somewhat the same as yours with a few key differences. She is a thinker, as you are, but she does not seem to care for the physical as much as you do.”

“She sea bathes and loves to dance and run. How is she different from me?”

He shot her a sideways glance with a skeptical smile. “Why am I feeling put on the spot?”

She chuckled and took his arm. “Not to worry, Mr Parker. I will not nip your nose.”

“Let me think how to say this. Perhaps physical was not the correct word. I did not know you when you were five, so possibly she _is_ like you at that age. But what I see now… she appears less _daring_ than you. You initiate; she observes. I cannot imagine Amelia taking the London coach alone to search for a missing friend. And if she did, it would be after hours of rumination and planning, not spontaneously as you did.”

“Perhaps it is the difference in birth order. I am the eldest in my family, while she is the second, after an audacious brother. She is more like Alison, who is second after me. I’m more bold where Alison is more cautious.”

“Yes, I can see how she is similar to Alison in that respect, more so than you. Certainly, I wish for Amelia to be herself, not necessarily similar to any of us.”

“I completely agree. And she is. She is her own person.”

“But as far as we two are concerned…” He bumped her. “I _relish_ your boldness, even though it drove me to distraction when first we met; it also made me desire you, _and_ admire you. You turned my life upside down.”

“As you turned mine inside out.”

“And here we are.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder and slipped her right hand beneath his coat, bringing it to rest over his heart. “I would never, ever wish to be anywhere else.”

When they arrived at Trafalgar House, Arthur and the two boys had returned a few hours earlier from up north. Mary called for tea and the four of them settled in the sitting room, but not before viewing Tom’s new portrait. While Sidney was perplexed, Charlotte almost laughed. “It would be comical, almost a parody if it were not so…”

“Sad?” asked Mary.

“Yes, sad.”

“Look on the bright side,” Arthur said. “At least it is a good likeness.”

“Yes, he does not look quite as mad as he did in person, I suppose," said Mary.

“Was he truly so?” Sidney asked.

“Oh, yes, just as Lord Babington had described him. And very easily perturbed.”

“Well my dears, let us have a seat and I will tell you all about the Retreat.”

Arthur spent some time relating all he had seen and heard. “They reject the current notion that the insane are insensible to cold or foul odors. The rooms are comfortable, cozy and warm, and brilliantly the windows are designed to appear normal, but they have hidden iron bars in the sashes. So the patients are protected but do not feel confined. The grounds are quite fine, working gardens and pens with rabbits, chickens, cows and the like. It is a very peaceful atmosphere.”

“Tell them about the water,” Mary said.

“Oh, yes, quite fascinating. Just as we were leaving, Mr Tuke asked me about the drinking water at the Copeland's farm.”

“It is from a spring,” said Charlotte.

“Yes, Henry knew that, thankfully, as I did not. But they have come to suspect something in that natural spring water was helping Tom’s condition. Mr Tuke said the ancient Greeks believed alkaline water could help mania.”

“Is that the diagnosis? Mania?” asked Sidney.

“I believe it is the working assumption, based on the history I gave and what they observed. Of course we will know more later. Mr Tuke believed the water combined with the country setting and horses, which apparently are another ancient Greek cure for lunacy, helped Tom. How they will put all this together for a cure I do not know. Curious that he seemed to realize the horses helped him.”

“Several times he remarked on how peaceful he felt in Cumberland,” added Mary.

“But it did not take long after he returned here with us, to the source of his madness, that it returned. Before we knew it, he began planning the grand regatta.”

“Damming the river. How exactly did he intend to do so?”

“It is all in his drawings and scribbles in his study, Sidney, if you care to look. I have not touched anything in there, and will not until we hear from the hospital. It is entirely possible he had no plan as to how he would accomplish it. The finished lake was all he saw in his mind.”

“No, I’d best not. I wish to be sympathetic. I do not want to tempt the side of myself that would become annoyed.”

“But we, as a family, must plan and run the events this summer, obviously without a reenactment of the battle of Trafalgar. I promised Tom we would.”

“Are you staying?” Charlotte asked.

“I am. I’ve written to Francis and Diana. I will stay at least until the midsummer ball is past, longer if they decide to accompany Étienne this autumn.”

Mary set her tea cup down. “Honestly, the events mostly run themselves. Tom makes a fuss, and yes, there is a certain amount of organizing, but it is nothing compared to the ladies’ sale, which Tom still refuses to admit after all these years is the reason the regatta is such a success. And what is happening with the sale this year, Charlotte? When are we meeting?”

“A very good question.” Sidney looked at Charlotte. “You promised me.”

“And _you_ know we organized the committees for this year after last year’s sale. Esther and I will discuss it all soon. Then we will call for a general meeting and set all in motion, Mary.” She looked at Sidney. “But I will be present the day of the sale, as will Esther.”

“As will I,” said Mary.

“I will hold you to that, day of the sale and no more. I will do my part. Babington and I need to finish with the magistrates on the appointment of special constables. I hope he’s been attending to it.”

“Was he supposed to?”

“We had agreed as much. If not, Lady Denham’s money can pay for extra watchmen for the whole weekend. I am very tired of administering justice every year.”

“Oh Sidney,” Mary said. “You will always look out for Sanditon. It’s in your blood.”

“There’s a difference between looking out and physically removing ruffians. I take no pleasure in the latter.”

Justine gurgling and smiling in her basket changed the mood of the conversation, and discussions of Tom and Sanditon and the ladies’ sale were set aside for another day.

**The Thirteenth of March, 1828**

_Sanditon_

Sidney took Adam to the stables, Jay at his heels. Jay saw Titan several times a day since returning home, anxious to ride. Apollo and Titan called to their favorite people and Jay was off to Titan’s stall to visit. Sidney held Adam so he was eye to eye with Apollo, instructing him as to how to approach and touch, letting horse and boy meet one another. Apollo, nearly seventeen, had always been a spirited but steady creature. He viewed the little boy before him with eyes wise and kind. The day before he had been the same with Amelia.

“But when will we ride?” asked Jay on the way back to the house.

“Your mother wishes me to see Dr Fuchs first, to be sure I am well enough.”

“When will that happen?”

“Tomorrow. And I want you to know, that your sister and brother will sometimes ride Titan. You are not to grumble.”

“All right.”

“No grievances?”

“No. He will always be my horse, but they can ride him. I will teach them both how to tack and groom properly, as Mr Bainbridge taught me. That’s my role as elder brother, is it not?”

“It is. I am very pleased with you. That is precisely what I hoped you would say.”

Jay grinned ear to ear.

**The Fourteenth of March, 1828**

_Sanditon_

He found her that afternoon at the writing desk in their private sitting room. “Oh, you have returned. What did he say?” she asked.

From behind her, he slipped his hand inside her dress, cupping her breast, scattering kisses across her neck and down her throat. She tilted her head back for him to continue. “I assume it was good news?”

“I am perfectly healthy to resume normal activity such as riding and sea bathing. Nothing so extreme as rescuing my son from a winter sea for at least a few more weeks, but all else is permissible.” He took the pen from her hand and set it on the desk. “Come.” After she stood, he lifted her off her feet and into his arms, carrying her into their chamber to the bed, where he gently placed her and climbed atop.

“Should you have done that?”

“Perfectly normal activity is it not, for me to carry my wife to bed?”

“You just had your way with me this morning.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Sidney! Have I _ever_ complained? Have I ever not been a full participant?”

“No, my love. You are the wife most men can only dream of, and I thank my good fortune every minute of every hour of every day that you are mine.” He nestled into her breasts.

She stroked his hair, running her fingers through it, playing with the curls. “I am so relieved you are well. Jay is well. Justine is well. We are home safe and sound after a glorious journey.”

“How lucky we are.”

**The Fifteenth of March, 1828**

_Sanditon_

Amelia’s eyes were wide and bright as she sat astride the saddle in front of her father on Apollo, waving excitedly to her mother. Jay rode Titan next to them.

“Be careful. Listen to your father. Come back to me,” Charlotte called, Justine in her arms.

“You know we will,” said Sidney, tipping his hat. And off they rode to the Sanditon beach.


	51. A Trip to London

**The Nineteenth of March, 1828**

_Sanditon_

“We leave on Monday the 24th and return the following Monday. Does that sound agreeable to you?” Sidney showed his almanac calendar to Charlotte, who stood behind his chair in the study, her chin resting on his shoulder.

“So both Mondays are travel days with six full days in Town.”

“Right. Time for me to take care of business, see my banker and solicitor, for you and Esther to discuss the sale, and for us to visit, shop, have ices, enjoy ourselves. I’ll send a note to Jenkins to have everything ready for us.” He took her hand and pulled her around onto his lap. “Should we visit Willingden on the way back?”

“I don’t want to burden them, perhaps two or three days?”

“I cannot imagine they would ever consider us a burden, but I understand your meaning. Six extra people and servants. When will they come here again? I cannot remember the last time… when Amelia was born?”

“Mama came for Jay’s birth. They both came for Amelia, as it was in January, and not since.”

“We should invite them again.”

“I do, every time I write.”

“Ah, well, maybe we can convince them this time. And a post came today from James Stringer. They can start the addition sometime in April, unless you would rather wait until the first summer events are over, then I suppose it would be mid-June.”

“How long will it all take?”

“Three months or so, perhaps longer. The rooms are simple, but the tile and piping in the bathing room will take time.”

“Then let’s say April. If it is finished by the end of July, we can enjoy August in peace and quiet.”

“We can leave if it becomes too much. Perhaps Westerly Manor since Arthur will be here.”

“They’ve always said we can go anytime we wish. We need not wait for Arthur.”

“I know, but Arthur would make it even better. What an extraordinary fellow he has become, don’t you agree? How he took charge of Tom. Quite impressive.”

She toyed with a button on his waistcoat. “Without him, I do not know how I would have coped with Jay when you were ill. He was a devastated little boy, and Arthur took such tender care of him.”

He kissed her temple and held her tighter. “But cope you did. Magnificently. You are made of sterner stuff, my love. I’m so sorry I put you through it all, but thank God we had family to help.”

“I thought the other day about Elizabeth Denham, with child, all alone in a strange country with an injured husband. How frightened she must be, poor woman.”

“Babington’s last letter said her brother was due any day from New York, but I agree, I do feel sorrow for her as you do. It is an unfortunate situation all around. Edward should have known better, gambling late into the night in such an unsavory part of town, at one of Beecroft’s establishments no less. Those places are filled with scoundrels who do nothing but watch for careless winners. No doubt Edward had some luck and was followed and attacked when he left. Any man with an ounce of sense would know better than to be down there, especially at that hour. But a married man with a child on the way? Inexcusable. It makes no difference if it was a marriage of convenience. He had responsibilities he did not honor.”

She brushed a curl or two from his forehead, and ran her fingers down across his cheekbones, to his jaw, where she stopped and traced his lips with her thumb. He closed his eyes, breathing out quietly.

“Sidney…”

“Umm?”

“If someone asked me to write a story with the perfect husband…” She kissed him ever so softly, whispering into his lips, “I would simply describe you.”

He opened his eyes half way, smiled and kissed her back just as softly. “As I told you years ago, I am a great deal less than perfect.”

“Not to me.”

“If I have become so, it is _because_ of you. Same man, much improved, is that not what you said?”

“You have changed me, too. You have improved me.”

“Oh? How so?”

“You’ve shown me the world. I’ve learned to distinguish between the truth and my opinion.”

He winced. “I said that in anger and frustration. You well know it.”

“It was true, though. I allowed myself to be influenced without understanding the full situation. I was naïve; you were right. I have learned to be more discerning.”

“You have more knowledge of the world, as do I, which is to be expected; we are getting older and hopefully wiser, but you are the same woman I fell in love with.” He kissed her in the hollow beneath her ear. “You are still my Charlotte.”

“And you are still my Sidney, the same man, every _perfect_ bit of you.”

**The Twenty-Fourth of March, 1828**

_On the Road to London_

“My top tooth is loose now,” said Jay.

“Is it? Let me see,” Amelia squealed.

He wiggled it with his tongue. She laughed and clapped her hands.

“Come here,” said his mother.

He leaned across the carriage and she took his chin to inspect. “Leave it be, now. It has its own schedule as to when it will come out. We want the one coming in to be as fine and straight as the two on the bottom.”

**The Twenty-Sixth of March, 1828**

_London_

Immediately after entering the Babington townhouse that afternoon, the four boys, Jay, Adam, Anthony, and Marcus, headed off in a bustle of energy to the playroom. Phoebe and Amelia retreated to Phoebe’s room, far from their boisterous brothers.

“That took no time,” said Babington. “Forget they have not seen each other for half a year. It’s as if not a minute has passed.”

So much to catch up on, they hardly knew where to start. First the two babes, only a month apart, received much admiring and fussing over.

 _Oh my, such a head of red hair!_

_Goodness, what a sweet little face!_

And after it was determined they had the most beautiful babies in Britain, they settled down to conversation, first of Edward. “I swear both Crowe and I had to restrain ourselves from strangling him. Then we heard what happened to him. What a fool he was."

"Have you seen him?" asked Charlotte.

Esther spoke. "I visited her last week. She and her brother will take Edward back to New York. He has some vision now, and seems to have regained his mental faculties, but he has great trouble speaking, so it's difficult to tell. I try to comfort her, as does Susan, but she is not what I would call accepting. But enough for now. What of France?"

And so came the tale of the trip to France, Jay, Sidney’s injury, Justine’s birth. Returning by ship, meeting the Count. Diana and Étienne and Isabelle, Francis and Arthur, Tom and the hospital, the new wine venture.

This was followed by stories of the Babington household, the previous Season’s routs, Christmastide, birthdays.

Discussion turned to the ladies’ sale, then to the summer events in Sanditon.

“I have made progress with the magistrates for special constables,” said Babington, “at least for the big weekend. But how will the events work without Tom at the helm?”

“We’ll all work together. Arthur is staying, and Mary insists the events largely run themselves,” said Sidney.

“What about committees as we have for the sale?” asked Esther.

“Yes, have a governing board that makes decisions and the committees carry them out. Bring Sanditon townspeople into it.” Charlotte said.

“Hasn’t Tom funded the events in the past?” asked Babington.

“He has with the rental income from the apartments. The regatta and the balls do not generate income per se,” said Sidney. “It’s always been from the rentals.”

“How can we turn these events from privately funded to community funded? With Tom’s illness, we should be making plans, should we not?” Charlotte mused.

“So instead of a private enterprise, you think it could be a civic one,” Babington said.

“Why not?” Esther added. “Tom would still have a say as part of the governing board.”

“I daresay, the Denham funds could be used to help establish such a system. And in the end, Tom would be able to keep his rental income rather than plow it back into the field as it were.” Babington was intrigued now.

“That could convince him, but it all depends on how well he is, and if he can maintain his equilibrium.” Sidney shook his head. “Still the unknown factor, Tom’s condition.”

The two youngest boys tumbled into the sitting room. “Time for dinner soon?” Marcus asked.

“We are hungry,” said Adam.

Indeed, it was near dinner time. “Will you stay?” asked Babington.

“We cannot tonight. Shall we plan an evening together for later in the week with Crowe and Clara?”

“I like that idea. By the way my old friend…” He took Sidney aside. “I took your advice. I stayed with Esther when Cordelia was born.”

“Did you? And how was it?”

“Exactly as you said.”

Sidney slapped him on the back and embraced his old friend. “Welcome to the exclusive club, my good man. There may be ten of us in all of London.”

**The Twenty-Seventh of March, 1828**

_London_

Susan held Justine on her lap, the two of them cooing and smiling at each other. Susan had just given her an engraved silver rattle with gold bells and a red coral teething post. Justine shook it and gurgled in fascination, her eyes wide. Amelia and Adam snuggled into Susan on either side. “I missed you so at Christmastide,” Susan said. “Did you have a wonderful celebration in France?”

“We had a special meal with fish on Christmas Eve, and sprouted wheat on the table for good luck. Then we went to midnight Mass at the Catholic church,” said Amelia.

“How very fine. Were you able to stay awake?”

“I did!” replied Jay. “I was waiting for the desserts when we returned home.”

“I did!” Adam mimicked.

“Adam, you slept through most of the service, remember, in Uncle Arthur’s lap,” said his mother.

“I did fall asleep, but not the whole time,” Amelia said. “But I remember outside the church they made a small town of Saint-Tropez, with clay figures called santons, and the manger with Jesus. Étienne said it was because the people did not want to forget their religion.”

“Well, I suppose the Church of England will forgive you for that,” Susan teased.

“There were no English churches, only French. But Uncle Francis says, it does not matter where you find God, only that you do.”

“Yes, that does sound like something Francis would say. And your new little sister,” Susan said, shifting Justine to a sitting position. “How exciting for you.”

“I picked her name!”

“You did? Such a lovely name.”

“I cannot wait until she is older and we can talk and play.”

“And you will be a devoted sister, I am sure.”

“I’m learning to ride,” said Adam, tapping Susan on her arm.

“I’m riding, too,” Amelia countered from the other side.

“But you already rode up at Uncle Charles’s farm. Adam never did,” Jay said next to his mother.

Charlotte sighed. “Everyone is riding, enough now you two. We’ll need to get a ladies’ saddle for Titan soon, so Amelia can ride him.”

“Why can I not ride as the boys do?”

“Because girls must ride to the side,” Jay replied.

“But why?”

Charlotte and Susan exchanged looks. “Because polite society does not believe it is proper for girls to ride in such a way,” said Susan.

“But I’m riding like a boy with Papa.”

“In Sanditon we can be a little lenient for a time, but not for long,” said Charlotte.

“Humph! I think it is silly,” was her daughter’s reply.

“When you are older Amelia, Susan and I will give you a few special books to read, in particular by a woman named Mary Wollstonecraft. Perhaps we should start you on her _Original Stories from Real Life._ I think you could read that one by now.”

“It was intended for children,” said Susan.

“We shall pick up a copy while we’re in London. Maybe someday you will expand on her ideas with your own book.”

“I have not yet finished the first one, with Jenny,” Amelia reminded her.

Susan took Amelia’s hand. “Did you write a book while you were away?”

“With my cousin, Jenny. She drew the pictures and wrote down my story.”

“How simply marvelous! Well, you must show me when it is completed.”

“I would very much like to!”

The footman announced Mr Sidney Parker, who had arrived back from his meetings with banker and solicitor. “There he is, the paterfamilias.”

“Dearest Susan,” he said, taking both her hands and leaning down to kiss her on both cheeks.

“My, how very French of you, dear Sidney,” she laughed.

“You must visit them sometime, in Saint-Tropez. The packet ship was not unpleasant at all.”

“We went to Lisbon for a day,” Jay said.

“Oh, I hear it is a lovely city, nearly back to its original splendor.”

“They are still building, but the new developments are extraordinary, opulent,” Sidney said.

“Any rough weather aboard ship?”

“Only one night. And did Charlotte tell you who boarded at Lisbon? Count Mendorff and his children.”

“They are here in London now. Wilhelm is my friend. He just had his seventh birthday. Will we visit, Papa?”

“I have written to the Count, Amelia. We will see.”

After a while the visit came to a close, with goodbyes and promises to visit again before leaving London. The Parkers climbed into their carriage and headed back to Bedford Place.

###

A candle still burned on the bedside table. She lay on her back, head on the pillow. He stretched half across her, his pillow her breasts, his arms wrapped around her, hers cradling his head.

“What happened in your meetings today?”

“Justine is added to the will by name. The contracts for the new venture are right and proper.” He lifted himself up to put his head on the pillow facing her and pulled the covers around them. “But I should warn you if you see the books anytime soon, our trip was costly, and Tom’s care will be as well. Income has been small, outgo large, so we are down. It will drop further with the addition, and as I restart the business there will be capital outlay, for the new venture as well.”

“But we have more than enough, do we not?”

“Of course. And all and then some will be regained in a year or so.”

“I trust you. I have no reason not to.” She held his face between both her hands and kissed him thoroughly.

“Good. That is all I needed to hear.”


	52. London to Willingden

**The Twenty-Ninth of March, 1828**

_London_

“Let me get this straight, spring water in Cumberland is a possible cure for Tom?” Crowe was incredulous. “And how will that work? Will he move there? Will you bring barrels of the stuff down monthly?”

The six friends dined at Babington’s, finishing their dessert of sugar biscuits and macaroons with glasses of sweet wine to dip them in.

Sidney gave an exasperated sigh. “All good questions to which we have no answers. He has only been there a few weeks. Perhaps Arthur and Mary have heard from the hospital in our absence.”

“Arthur said the water was believed to be one component,” Charlotte said.

“And what are the others?” asked Clara.

“Being with horses and in the countryside, but most importantly away from Sanditon, or at least the worry Sanditon causes him.”

“It isn’t as if Sanditon is a large city,” Crowe said. “It’s more countryside than anything.”

“I believe they refer to the pressure he feels when in Sanditon,” Esther said.

“And you are footing the bill for all this Parker?”

“I am.”

“Rather generous of you.”

“Crowe, the man is my brother. What would you expect me to do? Charlotte and I discussed it and we agreed.”

“It isn’t only for Tom,” Charlotte added, “but for Mary and the children.”

Babington spoke up. “Crowe, you did not see Tom as I did. Completely disheveled, talking nonsense. He truly appeared mad. If he can be helped in a place where he’ll be treated with dignity, then why not? What does the cost matter? It’s far easier for Sidney to cover the expenses than Mary. And how would it be for her if he were placed in a lunatics asylum. He’d never be cured there.”

“Far be it from me, Parker, to chide you for helping your brother. I simply wonder if this place actually will.”

“Arthur was impressed, and they have a history of success. We will take our chances.”

“So it was Otis Molyneux who knew about it?” asked Clara.

“Yes, they are Quakers and staunch abolitionists. Otis had worked with them on the shared cause. But I must say, what is most important to us is that they treat the patients with kindness, without restraints and horrible _treatments_ with beatings and ice water baths. Truly Francis, imagine if it were your family member.” Passion rose in Charlotte’s voice.

“All right, all right, I understand. You know me, the _skeptic_.”

Clara turned to her husband. “Well, it seems if he is helped even a small amount it is worth the price. Charlotte, James is how old? Eight?”

“Nine now.”

“Still a tender age. Those children need a father who is in his right mind. Not to mention poor Mary and what she has gone through. I applaud you for what you are doing. Pay no attention to the man to my right.” She elbowed Crowe.

“Mea culpa!” he said, standing and bowing.

They applauded. Babington threw his dinner napkin at him.

“You are forgiven,” Sidney said. “Now sit down and behave.”

After the ruckus died down, Esther asked, “How are Georgiana and Otis? We have not seen them since last summer.”

“We visited yesterday. I suppose I can tell you that Georgiana is in a family way.”

“Ah! How wonderful!” The good wishes went round the table.

“When is she due?”

“September.”

“Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined during our first summer out there in Sanditon that nine years later we’d all be married with children. Many children," said Crowe.

“To speak of children, I’d best go check on my little one,” said Charlotte.

“May I go with you? I would love to see her,” Clara said.

“Let’s us three go and leave these fellows to their own devices,” Esther rose and escorted them up to the nursery.

When they were out of earshot, Crowe sat back in his chair. “Did we truly almost lose you, Sidney?”

“It appeared so for a day or two.”

“Three days you were out?”

He nodded. “I was lucky to make it through Justine’s birth and see Charlotte safe and resting, left her to get some air, as I simply could not breathe anymore, and at the bottom of the stairs, everything went black."

“Incredible.”

“But you are fully recovered, yes?” asked Babington.

“Mostly. I do need a few more weeks. I can ride, swim, walk up hills…”

“No rescuing anyone from stormy seas, though.”

“Precisely.”

Upstairs in the nursery, Justine still slept in her basket. “Has she fussed at all?” Charlotte asked Cordelia’s nurse.

“No ma’am, I thought she might when this little one did, but she slept right through.” She placed Cordelia back in her crib, curtsied and left.

“You are not nursing this one, Esther?” asked Charlotte.

“No, Babington put his foot down. He doesn’t want me to. I have to admit, it feels quite peculiar not to. Does Sidney mind that you do?”

“No, quite the opposite.” Suddenly she felt the color rise in her cheeks.

“Do you mean to say he appreciates it?” Clara said with a sly smile.

“I simply mean it does not bother him.” She knew she was scarlet now.

“Francis ventured there when Sophie was born, but he says it’s too sweet.”

“Clara!”

“But I suppose if my breasts were filled with brandy he’d be in heaven.”

The three burst into laughter and quickly stifled it so not to wake the babies.

“You are scandalous, Clara Crowe,” Esther said, dabbing her eyes.

“It doesn’t take much to turn them into little boys, does it?”

“Sidney and I consider having children to be a natural part of our marriage. I suppose what I meant to say is we do not allow it to impede our passion for each other.”

“It is all natural, whether for procreation or recreation. We each have the intricacies of our marriages,” Clara mused.

“It seems all three of us are fortunate to have husbands who see us as equals, as partners.”

“Yes,” said Esther, “and what an influence they have over one another. We could use that to our advantage someday.”

“Now who is talking scandalously, Lady Babington? Well, shall we rejoin the men?”

**The Thirty-First of March, 1828**

_On the Road to Willingden_

Amelia looked up from reading _Original Stories_. “This is a very sad book. Why are these children so cruel to the birds and animals?”

“Many people are that way, I am sad to say, but those stories comprise only a small portion of the book. The intention of the writer is to show children how to help make a better society, and it is especially directed to young girls," her mother replied.

“Why?”

“To educate them.”

“Girls do not receive the same kind of education boys do. Your mother and I wish to see you and your sister as well educated as your brothers will be. Just as your Mama was.”

“I will go away to school, will I not, Papa?” asked Jay, his book, _Grimms’ Fairy Tales_ , closed in his lap for now.

“Your fourteenth year, yes, you will go to Winchester as I did. So will Adam.”

“Why cannot girls go away to school?”

“There are a few small academies for girls, but they do not offer many intellectual pursuits. Mama and I will find you a good governess, and we will teach you as well.”

“I learned from my father and mother,” said Charlotte. “And on my own, as you do. You decided quite on your own to learn German.”

Almost to herself Amelia said, “I’m sad I could not see Wilhelm. But we will write.”

“When you see your Grandpapa, ask him to give you a book he gave to me when I was five.”

“I will. But I am beginning to think the world is very unfair to girls.”

Jay reached across Adam and squeezed his sister’s hand. “I think so, too. You are just as smart as I am. Even more so. You should be allowed to study the same as I do.”

_Willingden_

The Heywoods still had five unmarried children at home, the youngest being eleven year old Elizabeth. John, the eldest son who would inherit the farm, lived at Heywood House with his wife, Abigail and their two children, Jeremy aged four, and two year old Nora.

As always, great fanfare greeted the Parkers when they arrived. After everyone was thoroughly embraced and kissed, luggage taken to rooms and travel clothing changed, they settled in. Jay adored his teenage uncles, Will, Freddie and Eddie (although they now preferred Frederick and Edward), and Adam had his cousin, Jeremy, to play with. Maggie and Elizabeth took Amelia under their wing. Mrs Heywood doted on her newest granddaughter. Mr Heywood was keen to hear about Sidney’s new venture. Then it was time for dinner around the great wooden table, and stories flew as fast as clipper ships throughout the meal.

###

She nursed Justine. Sidney had set aside the book on winemaking he found most engrossing and slid over so she could lean against him. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, “rather than serve as moral lessons, the stories in Amelia’s new book might illustrate how immoral people really are. I had not thought of it in such a way when I bought it for her, but as I see it, we are already raising our children to be ethical, thinking beings.”

“I suppose one must learn both sides. We would not want any of them to be blind to the faults of their fellow man. Or woman.”

“Perhaps Maggie could be Amelia’s first governess. She’s nearly fourteen now and as sharp as a tack. Five years from now would be a good age for both of them. I should talk to Mama about it.”

“There is also Elizabeth if Maggie is not interested. Perhaps neither would be.”

“Their options are limited. The last two in a family of twelve, and girls no less.”

“It would give them a chance to see a bit of the world, meet new people.”

“My thoughts exactly. But I must ask you something. Do you feel influenced by Babington and Crowe?”

‘Influenced? What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure. Do they influence how you think or what you do?”

“What an odd question, Charlotte. Where does this come from?”

“Give me the answer and I will tell you.”

“Well, they may give me recommendations for investments, or a tailor, or a good wine. They may inform, not necessarily sway, a thought or two politically, but you know I am not one who cares much for politics. When we were bachelors we would compare impressions of, shall we say, scenes and players. Crowe has always been one to tease, so Babington is usually the one I talk to in a more earnest way. But influence me? I do not think so. I’m my own man.”

“Esther seems to think the three of you have great influence over each other.”

“How did you reply?”

“I did not. I thought she was mistaking friendship for influence, but I dared not correct her. Perhaps she thinks you influence Thomas and assume he influences you. I wondered what you thought.”

“People see what they wish to see. I love my friends as if they were brothers. But my mind and opinions are my own. The only one who influences me is you.”

“My great power.”

“Of course.”

She rose and settled Justine into the cradle. “I slept in this cradle, and now all four of my children have. That must count for something.”

“The continuing line. Our great-grandchildren will see our portraits and wonder about us. Perhaps Amelia will write the family history someday.”

She slipped back under the covers. He pulled her in. “If I promise to be very, very quiet, may I have my way with you?” His hand was already beneath her gown.

“That requires me to be very, very quiet.”

“We could have a contest.”

“What’s the winner’s prize?”

He smiled against her lips. “I believe we both win, either way… I know, incorrigible.”

“One of the many reasons why I love you.”

**The Third of April, 1828**

_On the Road to Sanditon_

The Parker family sat quietly in the carriage headed home, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Charlotte felt concerned her parents seemed old before their time, and worried about the burden they carried. Sidney felt fortified by his bonds with Charlotte’s family. Jay thought about being a grown man like his uncles. Amelia mused on the cricket match out in the courtyard, and how fine a player her mother was. Adam’s thoughts were everywhere, a bee visiting every flower in the garden. He wasn’t quite at the stage he could put all his thoughts together.

“What book did Grandpapa give you?” Charlotte asked Amelia.

“Robinson Crusoe. I think I shall like it better than the other one. Is that all right?”

“Of course. You may change your mind about the other one someday. And you may not. All is fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear friends,  
> We are winding down to the end of this story. Two perhaps three chapters are left with an epilogue. If I continue with Book 3, The Legacies, I will simply add it to this one, not start a new work. I think it's easier that way. I will most definitely take a break in between, but let me know how you feel. Thanks a million for your support.


	53. The End of April

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kind words and support. I am so very honored. I hope to soon answer your comments individually, but I will make a few general ones here. Yes, the third story would have S & C as the main protagonists. And yes, even though it will cover several decades, there will still be young and teenage kidlottes to enjoy. And it will age all our beloved characters, but I hope in a way you can still relate to and empathize with. 
> 
> It will be posted in the same story as this one, rather than starting up a whole new work. So if you subscribe (button at the top right of the page), you'll be notified when it updates. I'm thinking at least a month or so after The Families finishes. We would head into Victorian times and the industrial revolution in full swing, so there's quite a bit of research. But for now, I hope you enjoy the remaining chapters.

**The Twenty-Ninth of April, 1828**

_Sanditon_

“Are you certain you cannot stay for dinner or even tea?” Sidney asked James Stringer.

The two men and Charlotte stood outside the Old Parker House that afternoon after James had come to inspect the initial progress on the addition. Other than his exceedingly handsome face and fine physique, James Stringer bore little resemblance to the man he had been when he first met Charlotte Heywood. His dress and speech were those of a gentleman now, but he refused to forget his roots, and always spent time with his old friends, especially Fred Robinson, whenever he came back to Sanditon.

Despite all the years, seeing Charlotte with Sidney Parker remained a bit thorny for James. She was the first to stir the emotion of love in him, and he still regarded her as singular among women. He found it impossible not to admire her beauty and grace as she stood across from him in a simple floral print cotton dress with a round neckline that exposed her smooth shoulders, a full bell skirt emphasizing her curves, her long hair put up in braids with lace ribbons, no jewelry save a gold heart locket on a chain around her lovely neck and her wedding band. He loved his wife, his sweet Lucy, and would not trade her for the world, but being in Charlotte’s presence unnerved him, all compounded by how damn happy the two of them were, how devoted. Sidney Parker’s attention never strayed far from her, and she basked in his warm, protective gaze, responding with one of adoration. The only time James cared to visit with them outside of his work was when Lucy was present, so he thanked them profusely but made his regrets, stepped up into his carriage, and left.

As Stringer’s carriage pulled out, Arthur came trotting in on Tom’s horse, Darra. “I think as long as I live I will never stop marveling at the sight of Arthur on a horse,” Sidney said, and then called to Arthur. “Well met, brother. Do you bring news?”

“Indeed, indeed!” One of the young grooms from the stable house rushed up to attend to Darra as Arthur dismounted in a surprisingly graceful fashion for a man of his girth. “Another letter from Mr Tuke.”

Charlotte took his arm. “Come in, join us for tea.”

“Was that James Stringer I saw leaving?”

“It was, here to inspect the addition progress.”

“Jolly good! How I would like having such a _large_ tub.”

“You’ll be welcome to use it.”

The afternoon was fine and warm, perfect for enjoying tea on the terrace. “Well, here it is. Shall I read it to you?” asked Arthur.

“Go right ahead,” Sidney said.

Arthur took a sip of tea, set his cup down, and cleared his throat. “Dear Mr Parker, The following is to apprise you and your family on the progress being made with Mr Thomas Parker after seven weeks in our care. We have employed the following treatments with great success. Regular therapeutic walks around the grounds. Regular tasks in the garden and animal pens. In particular, Mr Parker seems to enjoy working in the glass house with seedlings and caring for the rabbits. He attends daily social sessions where he and other select residents discuss their progress and personal history with each other under the supervision of hospital staff. Every other day he meets our physician for _talking_ treatments. He has hours for leisure where he may read, write, paint or engage in other crafts, and play games both indoor and out with other residents. We do have regular prayer sessions, although we understand Mr Parker is not religiously inclined, he still appears to find it meditative. After sleeping a great deal when he first arrived, he is now on a regular schedule, and maintains his personal care without assistance. He consumes two full meals of wholesome food a day, along with light refreshments in between.”

Arthur paused.

“Is that it?” asked Sidney.

“No, no, just wondering if you have a comment thus far.”

Sidney looked at Charlotte. She shrugged. “I’d like to hear all of it first,” she said.

Sidney motioned Arthur to continue.

“All right… Let us see, ah here… Mr Parker has shown excellent progress in regaining his self-control. He has responded well to the structured environment. In regard to the questions we had about the spring water in Cumberland, we have obtained samples and tested them. The water is far on the alkaline side of neutral. Your family graciously allowed us to bring back a barrel for Mr Parker and for further testing. If the alkalinity is the helpful agent, Mr Parker could also consume a small amount of seawater daily when he returns home, as seawater is also alkaline. We also recommend avoiding acidic foods and drink, especially wine and spirits, which we are seeing to here and should be continued. He tells us he used to bathe frequently in the sea, but over the years has let go of the practice. We would recommend he resume. Finally, we recommend you and your family begin to address how Mr Parker’s work can be lessened or eliminated altogether when he returns. I shall send another detailed letter in two weeks unless there are unforeseen changes. Respectfully yours, S. Tuke”

“It appears he is improving. What do you think?” Sidney asked Charlotte.

“I think as you do. It sounds promising. Alison wrote me they came for the water; I’m sure you recall. But if seawater could work… I remember Lady Denham telling me she took half a tumbler every morning.”

“I do hope it was not the cause of her cantankerous manner,” said Arthur. “Oh, and there was a letter for Mary from Tom included with this one. I do not know what it said, but Mary seemed pleased.”

“We are on the way to eliminating his work burden, with the committees in place and Babington arranging the funding,” said Charlotte.

“Yes, we’re well ahead of them in that respect,” agreed Sidney.

“Uncle Arthur!” Jay threw one arm around his uncle’s neck, the other he held behind his back.

“My dearest boy!” He put his arm around Jay’s shoulders, then said conspiratorially, “And what is behind your back?”

Jay opened his mouth wide and laughed, placing a plate of brioche toast down before his uncle. “For you!”

“Good heavens! Did you bake it?”

Jay nodded his head. “I baked the bread _and_ I made the toast.”

“We had quite a time at first convincing Mrs Bunting to allow him into the kitchen, but he was so well taught by Madame Gravier, I think our cook has reconsidered her first opinion,” said Charlotte.

“All right, it looks lovely, but I shall do a taste test. Because…”

“Taste is what matters. Le goût.” Jay watched, his eyes wide and expectant.

Arthur broke off a piece and carefully placed it in his mouth, chewing with his eyes closed, breathing in dramatically. He swallowed and sighed. “Magnifique. Your teacher would be proud. I will tell her when I return.”

Jay nearly exploded in squeals of delight.

###

Justine slept in her crib. The door to Charlotte’s dressing room was open, as it always was this time of evening, and Sidney rested in his usual chair near the fireplace where he could see her sitting at the dressing table. His book was open, but he was not reading. Haskell took the pins from Charlotte’s hair, undoing the braids and removing the ribbons, brushing the long chestnut curls before plaiting them. Charlotte patted her face with the cream she brought from France, then smoothed another into her hands.

James Stringer was still in love with her. Sidney saw it clear as day. He checked himself at the time, and again now, as he watched her. Was he jealous? He found he was not. She was his as much as he was hers. Nothing and no man _or_ woman could ever change that. As if she heard him, she looked out the door, her secret smile touching the corners of her mouth, then turned to Haskell, thanked her and said goodnight, rising and leaving the dressing room, closing the door behind her.

“I can hear your mind working from all the way in there.” She took the book he held, set it on the side table and blew the reading candle out. He stood and cupped her head in both hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Do you realize Stringer still fancies you?”

She shook her head. “He is a happily married man with a child. We are simply old friends.” She opened her hands and followed the contours of his lower back down to his buttocks, taking hold and pressing him against her.

He smiled but held back from responding. “I have no doubt he loves his wife, but I assure you he has never forgotten the _prize_ he lost.”

“What do you mean?”

He tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear and trailed his fingers down her neck. “At the first regatta, when his boat won.” His fingers continued inside her gown, sliding it off her shoulder. “When we shook hands and I congratulated him, he said it wasn’t the prize he was after.” He kissed lightly above her collarbone, moving out to her soft round shoulder he grazed with his teeth.

“What makes you think he referred to me?”

He pulled back to look at her. “I wasn’t certain at first, too much had happened and my thoughts were far too muddled. But afterward, when I sorted it all, before I came to you in Tom’s study, I knew he meant you; I was quite aware he was besotted. It gave me confidence, perhaps he knew you loved someone else.”

“I did. You.”

“So I hoped when I found you that night.”

“I trust you are not jealous.”

“No. It only makes me desire you more, if such a thing is possible.”

She pulled his nightshirt up; he released her and held his arms aloft so she could remove it, then dropped his arms to his sides, his eyes on hers. First taking hold of his wrists, she caressed her way up his muscular arms and across his wide shoulders, opening her hands flat and gliding them down his chest and lean abdomen. He stood motionless, closing his eyes when she took hold of him and drew her hands slowly down his length and back again. She looked up and met a dark, wild look in his eyes. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she half jumped, he half lifted her up, her legs around his waist.

Instead of carrying her to the bed, he moved to the wall beside it, releasing her for a moment to pull off her gown, then lifted her again, holding her under one thigh, pressing his full weight against her. Their kisses were fierce, rough and bruising, open mouthed with tongues and teeth. He entered with one powerful push, making her gasp, continuing forceful and unrelenting, drumming her against the wall. The first time he had been this way happened shortly after they were married, when at her insistence he took her down to the docks to see his cargo ship arrive. He became incensed and unnerved by men leering at her, dredging up his fear of losing her and the terror he felt when he saved her in a murky London alley.

 _There is an old saying: There is no darkness where there is love. May I never give you reason to stop_ , he had said. She had come to know this was his way of claiming her, of making certain she was his. With the intensity, he finished quickly, and after a few moments of catching their breath, he carried her to the bed. As the wildness left him and tenderness returned, he covered her with soft kisses, pleasuring her until she moaned for him to stop. He leaned over and blew out the candle on the bed table, pulled her to him, and within minutes they were both asleep.

**The Thirtieth of April, 1828**

_Sanditon_

“It was so much like old Tom I cannot help but feel hopeful. Even when he was doing better in Cumberland, he did not write in this way,” said Mary. She, Arthur and the children had come to visit that afternoon at the Old Parker House. The four of them gathered on the terrace, while the children played a game of battledore out on the lawn, the boys against the girls. Jenny purposefully hit the shuttlecock to Adam, who managed to strike and return it, eliciting cheers all around.

“How long do you suppose he’ll be there? Has Mr Tuke said anything?” Charlotte asked.

Arthur held Justine, who smiled and laughed and played with her fingers. “No date has been mentioned. I venture it may be sometime in the early fall. Of course, it all depends on Tom.”

The conversation moved to details of the Sanditon summer activities that would commence with the opening ball next week, then the cricket match followed by the big three: the ladies of Sanditon sale, the regatta and the midsummer ball. The bathing machines were in place and in use, the apartments and houses were booked, many already occupied.

“I do not think Otis and Georgiana will come this year. She isn’t feeling up to it,” Charlotte said.

“Ah, I am sorry to hear. But I hope you do not mind that Alison and Charles will stay at Trafalgar House. I wanted to somehow repay them for all their kindness.”

“It’s better,” said Sidney, “with the building project right now, as you can hear…” He indicated the noise coming from the other side of the house.

A round of cheers came from the girls as James and Amelia had several back and forth exchanges, James missing the last. Jenny hugged her cousin.

“Jenny is doing so well,” Sidney said.

“It’s been night to day, has it not? Friends with her sister again, more than civil. And so captivated by drawing and painting. If nothing else, leaving Tom and traveling with you was worth it for Jenny’s sake.”

The game finished. The girls took to practicing dancing. The three older boys ran up to the terrace. “Uncle Sidney, will you box with us?” asked Henry.

“Box with you? Why would I do that?” he teased.

“Because you are the very best teacher!” Jay replied.

“Ah, I’ll see if I can get these old bones moving,” Sidney said, standing slowly and stretching. “We shall see how much you remember from last year.”

“Only for a short time,” said Mary. “We’ll need to start back soon.”

He winked at her and joined the three boys out on the lawn, only this year, Adam found the boxing arena far more interesting than his wooden blocks.

Mary reached for Justine and Arthur handed her over. “How extraordinary his recovery has been," said Arthur. "I believe my brother is made of steel.”

Charlotte looked out at the strong, lean figure that was her husband and smiled.


	54. The Tenth Sanditon Summer -- The End of Part 5

**The Tenth of May, 1828**

_Sanditon_

Sidney set his coffee cup back into its saucer. “Arthur wants me to give the welcome tonight. I think he should. He’s jovial after all, whereas I am taciturn Sidney Parker, the outlier.”

Charlotte paused with a bite of toast and tossed him a dubious look. “Sidney, no one has thought of you in such a way for years, if they ever did at all. You are beloved here. You are the man who has been reliable with the workers, paid them fairly, kept them employed. You are the man who saw the town grow and thrive so the shopkeepers could sell their wares. You are the man who has kept Sanditon safe from ruffians. The last thing you are is an outlier. And you are not taciturn either. You are utterly charming when you choose to be.”

“I do not feel comfortable giving speeches, you know that. I’m not Tom.”

“Thank goodness.”

“I’m serious. Besides those who attend are mostly the London crowd. I am sure they think of me only as the enforcer. So much gossip in Town. Makes me happy we do not live there.”

“That you have been compelled in the past to keep the peace now and then hardly makes you so. And we have constables this year. You are free from any supervisory burden.”

“I am glad of it.”

“You and Arthur should give the welcome together.”

“Yes, you are right.”

###

Arthur escorted Mary, looking lovely in a deep blue silk gown, slightly off the shoulders with demi gigot sleeves and a full skirt. Arthur cut a fine figure in black trousers and tailcoat with a silver gray brocade waistcoat and black silk cravat.

A few minutes later, the other Parkers arrived at the assembly rooms. Charlotte, her hair parted in the center with ringlets at crown and sides, wore a new gown of cream colored satin, the wide neckline far off her shoulders, large puffed cap sleeves, pleating down the bodice front and a cone shaped skirt. Around the waist was a sky blue ribbon held with an ornate gold buckle in the front, a blue sheer silk shawl with paisley print edging draped over her arms. Sidney matched her with a blue and gold waistcoat and cream colored silk cravat, his trousers and tailcoat in black. They circulated and greeted those already in attendance.

Lord and Lady Babington made their entrance, she resplendent in emerald green silk and lace, he in the latest London fashion with a nipped waist and puffed sleeves on his swallowtail coat, a black silk stock around his neck.

The gathering grew and the hall filled with conversation and laughter. The card tables were fully occupied. The musicians were set and awaiting the word to proceed. Sidney guided Charlotte through the crowd, keeping her close until they found Arthur and Mary, who were chatting with the newly arrived Crowes, both dressed in high London fashion.

“Are you ready?” Arthur asked.

Sidney nodded. Charlotte smiled encouragement. The two brothers strode to the center of the room. Sidney’s strong deep voice cut through the din. “Welcome. Welcome all.” The chattering subsided and all eyes went center. He continued. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the tenth annual Sanditon season and our opening ball. I am Sidney Parker…”

“And I am Arthur Parker. Our brother Mr Tom Parker is unable to join us this year, but sends his warmest regards. On behalf of the town of Sanditon, we hope you enjoy yourselves and have come prepared to dance…”

“And let good fellowship prevail…”

A brash male voice from the crowd cut Sidney off. “And will you knock men’s heads together if it does not?”

A murmur rippled through the attendees as heads began to turn in search of the voice’s owner. Charlotte saw Sidney’s jaw tense and her heart missed a beat. His eyes sought hers, then he turned back to the crowd, a broad smile on his face. “I assure you sir, you are quite safe in Sanditon. Thanks to the tireless efforts of Lord Babington, we have a trio of special constables serving for the entire summer season. Should anyone decide to behave in an uncivil manner, they will find themselves before the magistrates. So have no fears. Now, let the dancing begin! Mr Cromarty?” He motioned to the conductor, who motioned to the musicians, and the first couples began to move into place on the dance floor as the music began.

Arthur patted him on the back. “Brilliant.” 

As Charlotte watched the two brothers weave through the crowd, her view was obscured by a fine London dandy, his waist cinched so tightly she thought it appeared smaller than her own. “May I have the pleasure?” he asked.

She smiled sweetly. “How kind of you to ask, but my first dance is always reserved for my husband.” She looked over the man’s shoulder. “And here he is.”

He turned and looked up into the face of Sidney Parker, bowed and backed away. “Perhaps another time.”

She answered Sidney’s unspoken question. “He asked me to dance, and I explained my first dance is always with you.”

He gave her his hand and led her to the dance floor. “And your second, and your third…”

They paused at the sidelines, waiting for the current dance to end and the next to begin. She gazed up at him. “You were magnificent, you know. Just as capable as Tom, if not more.”

He returned her regard and smiled. “You say that to flatter me.”

“I say it because it is true.”

“Well, I’m flattered nevertheless, that the brightest and most beautiful woman _in the world_ thinks so.”

“You say that to flatter me.”

“I say it because it is true.” He brought her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it.

The dance ended and they applauded. He escorted her to a place on the dance floor. They turned to face each other. She curtsied. He bowed. The music began; he took her in his arms for a waltz. They glided and turned and spun around the room, and for a time, no one and nothing else mattered.

**The Eleventh of May, 1828**

_Sanditon_

“Did anyone find out who the devil it was?” asked Crowe.

“Rumor has it he is an acquaintance of the men who stayed at Denham House last year,” said Babington. The six friends lounged at tables under a pavilion in the Sanditon House garden, sipping cordials while their combined eight older children played games and practiced archery, the two young babes with their mothers

“I’ll be glad when Tom is back to make the speeches, and I can be content to dance with my wife and enjoy myself.”

“Still, it was a good response, Sidney. You simply took the wind out of his sails,” said Babington. “And I certainly appreciated the reference.” He laughed and raised his glass to Sidney, who raised his back.

“What is happening with Tom?” asked Esther.

Sidney set his glass down and looked into the distance at the children. “He seems to be recovering. We expect another letter from the hospital any day with news.”

After a time, the women fell into their own conversation and the men into theirs.

Babington swirled his drink around his glass. “I have been looking into the possibility of a Gas Light and Coke company here, as they have in Brighton, for street lighting, and for anyone who wishes to purchase it and install gas lights in their homes or shops. You could even fire that new bathing boiler of yours with gas. I’ve heard there is a hotel in New York that does just that.”

“We’re too far from town. Piping gas to our location would be cost prohibitive.”

“Not necessarily. The one in Brighton is outside the town limits, partially to escape the coal transport levies, but also to site the gasometer away from the town itself. And if you think of how much you spend on wax candles, gas light might be worth it.”

“And how would it work? Who would own the company?”

“I thought it could be along the same lines as the investment company Francis formed for Tom.”

“So you would ask for private investors to build the gas plant, and the proceeds from gas sales would pay their return. The Parish council would have to levy new taxes for the street lights, pipes and installation, plus the cost of the gas itself. How would you sell that to the people of Sanditon?” asked Sidney.

“When the gas piping is laid, we could see to it that new water pipes are put in, which would also be an aid for firefighting, as you well know, Sidney. And the company could follow the model of the one in Brighton. Install a small number of pipes and lamps in a prominent place and let people see the benefits for themselves.”

“And who will manage this company?” asked Crowe.

They both looked at Sidney. “ _Oh no_ ,” Sidney declared, shaking his head and raising his hands with palms out, “absolutely not. I have a new venture that will take all of my time, and I promised Charlotte never again. Certainly I’ll invest, be on the board, give advice…but I will not manage it.”

“All right, all right. It was worth a try to lure the best man for the job,” laughed Babington. “But what do you think of the idea?”

“I think it could work. A fine choice for your next project.”

The women’s discussion was of a far different content. After conferring about the upcoming sale, their thoughts turned to Georgiana. “We will all miss them this year. What exactly does she have trouble with?” asked Clara.

“Poor Georgiana,” said Charlotte, “she has great discomfort in her legs and feet, often feels weak. And she suffers from low moods and has not much interest in anything. With Crockett leaving her soon, her disposition is even gloomier.”

“The maid and the valet have married, is that correct?” asked Esther.

“Yes, Crockett and Offiah, when we all returned from France. And next spring, they plan to move to Portsmouth and open a haberdashery to start.”

“Georgiana is not taking it well, then?” asked Clara.

“She is happy and sad at the same time. Crockett has been with her since she was ten. Her last link to Antigua, besides Sidney. She’ll never replace her in that respect.”

“Do you suppose she would welcome a visit when we’re back in Town?” Clara asked.

“I’m sure she would enjoy a visit. Georgiana is not nearly as aloof as she wishes people to think.”

**June, 1828**

_Sanditon_

The annual cricket match came and went. The gentlemen’s team won, despite James Stringer playing for the workers. Charles Copeland, a formidable player, gave the gentlemen’s team the edge.

The Copelands stayed with Mary at Trafalgar House for two weeks, but many hours were passed at the Old Parker House. Charlotte and Alison luxuriated in their time together on the terrace, Amelia over the moon to have her cousins Emily and Anna to play with. Jane had just turned one year old, quite in the wobbly walking stage. Sidney felt a particular affinity with unflappable, thoughtful Charles. Along with Arthur, they often took Henry, James, Jay and Adam sea bathing. The ladies and girls all went to the bathing machines for their dips in the sea. The weeks were filled with festive dinners at both houses, visits to Sanditon House, long walks along the clifftops to and from.

The Ladies of Sanditon Sale chalked up another smashing success. The women were much better prepared for the massive crush of visitors, and with the constables present, everyone kept to their best behavior. The Regatta followed the next day with all the familiar bells and whistles. Lady Susan arrived and as always brought half the haut ton with her, the rest having arrived earlier for the sale. There was not a room, house, or apartment available for miles in either direction. The events flowed effortlessly, the children’s games, the sandcastle contest, and of course, the races. For the gentlemen's race, Arthur coxed and Charles and Sidney rowed, finally taking first place after several years of second and third.

Finally came the Midsummer Ball. Sidney and Arthur again welcomed the guests, this time without the interruption. The assembly rooms were full to capacity, and in the warm night the revelries spilled out to the street. At one point, Sidney noticed the balcony appeared unoccupied. He whisked Charlotte up the stairs to find he was correct. They laughed and kissed in a dark corner, as if they were young lovers in a forbidden tryst. After a time they moved to view the floor below, teeming with dancers, twirling satins and silks in a multitude of colors, glinting jewelry, feathers and flowers and ribbons floating atop high Apollo knot hairstyles. She leaned back against his chest as he stood behind her, his arms around her waist. Silently they observed the dizzying sight below.

Sidney kissed her temple. “This is Tom’s dream realized. He _is_ a visionary.”

“I think everything he ever wanted is here, right now, with the exception of a royal visit.”

“Ah, it may still come.”

Giggling and whispers alerted them they were no longer alone. Hand in hand, they traveled down the stairs and returned to the throng.

**The First of August, 1828**

_Sanditon_

In his study, Sidney seated himself at his desk and broke the seal on a letter.

_28 July, ’28 York_

_My Dearest Brother,_

_I struggle to find the words to tell you how sorry I am. Mary has written many letters informing me of all my errors in my dealings with you. First, I hope you understand it was my illness and not my true feelings. I have learned much since I have been here. I see how I allowed my sickness to taint everything I did. They tell me I have an imbalance in my body that affects my thoughts. I see that now. I understand._

_I know what you have done for me. I know that you are paying for my care here. I know how much you did for me in the past, and how I must have injured you by my ungrateful, angry countenance. I know now, you were the one who made Sanditon a success. You pulled me through the hopeless situation I, myself, created. All I ask is that you forgive me, forgive your foolish, foolish brother._

_I have work ahead, and it will not come easily. I must change my ways, curb all drink, keep diaries of my moods. I am well aware of the damage I have inflicted on my family over all the years. I vow to take one day at a time, to repair the many bridges I have burned._

_I hope to return in the autumn. I look forward to meeting your little Justine, and being with your lovely family, your beautiful Charlotte. Mary tells me Diana and Francis will be returning. How happy I will be to see them and little Isabelle._

_I understand if you wish not to respond. It will take time to see past all I have done to you. But know this -- I love you, my dear brother. I always have and I always will._

_Tom_

He set the letter down and brought his hand to his brow. He heard the door open and looked up. Charlotte. She saw the glistening in his eyes.

“From Tom?”

He nodded. She closed the door and went to him. He laid his forehead in the cleft between her breasts, breathing her in, seeking solace. She cradled his head, kissed his hair.

He turned his face to the side and lay against her. “Read it.”

When she finished, she set it back on the desk. He looked up at her.

She took his face in her hands and brushed away the dampness under his eyes with her thumbs. “It’s a good letter, my love.”

“Yes, it is. I have waited so long for him to say such things, now that he has, I find I am quite overwhelmed.”

“You are the best of men, Sidney Parker. Don’t ever doubt yourself.”

**The Eleventh of August, 1828**

_Sanditon_

“Perhaps here on the settee in front of the window. The back light is quite beautiful. Mr and Mrs Parker, if you two could sit…” The portrait painter was ready to make his preliminary sketches. “Ah, yes, and have the infant up, facing us, so we can see her pretty little face. Excellent. Now, Miss Amelia, sit down at your mother’s feet, yes, exactly so. Can you lean against her knee, place your hands there and… yes, good, your face on your hands, looking out. Lovely. Now, young Master Adam, Mr Parker, can you put him on your knee? There we are.”

Adam leaned over and reached to Justine. “Oh, that is wonderful! I know he cannot hold it, but I will capture it… let us continue. Master Jay, will you stand next to the settee and place your hand on your father’s shoulder. Excellent. Look out at me. Ah, very fine.”

Mr and Mrs Parker looked at one another and smiled. “Oh, oh, perfect,” said the painter. “Yes. That is exactly what it needs. Can you all hold still for a few minutes?” He began drawing energetically across the canvas. “And after this, Mrs Parker, it will take a few more minutes for me to sketch you for the miniature.”

“Miniature? You already have one on your watch case.”

“It’s very small. This one will be larger, in a folding frame so I can keep it on my desk here at home, and take it with me when I travel.”

“Well, mine of you is also very small, therefore I need a larger one.”

“All right. Mr Robertson, may we add another miniature?”

“Certainly, my pleasure.” _What a lovely family_ , he thought to himself, _that they could all be so_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my lovely readers, this is the final chapter in Book 2. An epilogue will follow.


	55. The Families -- Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the magic of fiction, we've flown ahead eight years. For reference: Sidney is 44½, Charlotte is 39, Jay is 15½, Amelia is 13, Adam is 11½, Justine is 8, and Aaron Thomas Parker is nearly 5.

**The Twenty-Eighth of May, 1836**

_Sanditon_

“Here we are Master Jay, home again.”

Jay smiled at Roland. If his parents insisted he be accompanied to and from Winchester, Roland was certainly the best choice outside of family members. “Yes, there it is. I never tire of seeing the old house pop into view.”

The carriage pulled into the drive. Roland opened the door and exited, holding it open for Jay. He stepped out, unfolding his tall, lean frame from the carriage, adjusting his leather cap.

Aaron heard the horses’ hooves clattering and rushed from the side yard. “Jay!” He reached his brother, arms outspread. Jay hoisted him up and spun him around.

“Hello, little bit! How is my baby brother?”

“I’m not a baby! I’m nearly _five.”_

“Ah, you’ll always be my baby brother,” he teased, setting Aaron back on his feet and tousling his mop head of chestnut curls. “Where is everyone?” he asked as they started towards the house.

“Mama and the girls are inside. Papa went to Uncle Tom’s.”

“At last!” Adam called, running up from the stable. “You’re home!” The two boys met and threw their arms about each other, enacting their age old ritual of back slapping and attempting to lift the other off his feet. Jay being older, taller, and stronger, always won, but Adam was gaining on him, and managed to lift him so only his toes remained grounded. “Ha! I almost had you!” Adam crowed.

They ambled to the house with Aaron between them, holding onto their arms and bouncing, all three of them whooping and laughing.

Music floated through the Great Room as the three boys entered, softening their liveliness. Justine, her ringlets the color of honey, was seated at the piano in the far corner, absorbed in playing Chopin’s Nocturne Op 9 No 2. Jay looked at his brothers, putting his finger to his lips, then crept over to her. She was making ready to turn the page on her music when he leaned in and turned it for her. Without missing a note, she looked up at him and flashed a smile. He sat down next to her on the bench until she finished.

“Beautiful.”

She took his arm and leaned into him. “Hello brother.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “How is it possible I could have not one, but two, lovely, talented, brilliant sisters?”

She laughed and bumped him. “I must finish practicing. Maggie has left me this piece to master before she returns from town. Go to Mama. She’s been waiting for you on the terrace with Amelia.”

Amelia was alone, sitting on the terrace steps and reading a letter, no Mama in sight. He sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Ha! I thought I heard your voice.” She kissed him on the cheek.

“You cannot be rid of me.” He kissed her cheek. “There, have your kiss back. You look more and more like Mama every day, do you realize that?”

She put her finger on her chin. “Not here. Justine has that.”

“Well, you need to have something of your own.”

“ _You_ look more and more like both of them. Mama’s eyes, but…” She tweaked his nose, “this has more of a point now, like Papa’s. No matter how you look, we’ve missed you.”

“How I’ve missed you all. I cannot believe Justine is only eight and plays better than you do.”

“Of course she does; she’s a genius.”

“Not possible to have two geniuses in the family, so you’d better decide which one of you has the title.”

“Well then, I’m the genius for insisting we get the piano way back when.” She tugged his cap down over his eyes and they tussled, laughing.

He looked out over the lawn. “Mama was supposed to be here with you. Where is she?”

“Out in the garden.”

“ _How_ is she? I am thankful you wrote me about it.”

“She’s… recovered. Papa still fusses over her, though.”

He whispered. “Was it the first one she’s lost?”

“First one she told me of.”

“And how are _they_?”

“The same as always, there when you need them, observing from the periphery when you do not.”

“Always _in love_ …”

She laughed. “Goes without saying, does it not?”

He motioned to the letter she held, written in German. “Wilhelm?”

“Yes, he’s still in Vienna.”

“Is he coming to England?”

“Depends on his father.”

“Jay, you’re here!” His mother glided across the lawn, her face partially hidden by a wide brimmed sun bonnet. She carried a gathering basket full of roses she had cut, her garden gloves and shears next to them.

“Mama!” With a few quick strides he was at her side, bending down to kiss her on both cheeks, then taking the basket.

“Let me have a look at you,” she said, pushing the bonnet back, then taking hold of his chin with her thumb and forefinger. “Just as I suspected, you are still my son.” She patted his cheek and smiled.

“I tell you, I would not have it any other way.” He gave her his arm. “And besides, I have the most beautiful mother of any boy at Winchester.”

“Now you sound like your father,” she said, pulling him close and laughing as they walked to the terrace.

“He’s gone to Trafalgar House?”

She nodded. “James came to summon him, some squabble between Tom, Henry, and Frederick about the regatta. He might enjoy some companionship on the way back. If you quickly change and tack up Titan, you could meet up with him.”

“He rode?”

“He did.”

Titan nickered his greeting and pawed the ground for good measure. Jay rubbed his forehead. “Give me a minute.”

Apollo looked over the gate of his stall and called softly. An old horse now, slightly lame in one leg, he was the beloved mascot of the stable and spent his days resting in his stall or grazing peacefully in the pasture. Papa had a new stallion, a black Arabian from the Copeland farm, with a white blaze and four white socks. Captain Black Jack was his full name, but Jack they called him. Jay stroked Apollo’s face and murmured softly to him. Then he tacked up Titan and rode off to the coast road to meet his father.

Of course he recognized the horse, but Jay would know his father at any distance from the ease in which he sat in the saddle, his straight back and gallant presence. Jay put Titan into a gallop, rode past his father and then trotted back to him, Jack now at a standstill. They grinned at each other and grasped arms. “My boy, you are home.”

They kept the horses at a walk, side by side. “All’s well at Trafalgar house?”

“As well as it ever will be. Your Uncle Tom does not like to give in easily. He needs to allow Henry and Frederick to make the decisions now, with his consultation of course, but… he is stubborn.”

“Frederick and Alicia have been married near two years, one would think Uncle Tom would be used to it. How old is he? I forget.”

“Tom? He’s fifty just this April.”

They passed the stone outcropping Jay used to call _the talking spot_. “Do you mind if we stop for a while?” Jay asked.

“Not at all. Is something on your mind?”

“We have not talked alone in some time. I miss it.”

They guided the horses off the road and down to the rocks. Once seated and looking out over the sea, his father took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair.

“You have many silver hairs now, Papa.”

“So your mother tells me.”

“She thinks it’s distinguished.”

His father chuckled. “Does she now? Did she tell you so?”

“Actually, yes, she did.” They both looked out over the water. “Amelia told me Mama lost a baby.”

His father started a bit, then stared at him, and for a second, Jay thought he was angry. When he turned his gaze forward again, Jay realized it was sorrow on his father’s face. “Yes, she did.” His voice was low and soft.

“But she is all right, is she not? She seemed so.”

“Yes, she has mended. It was… the first, and a great shock for both of us. But it happens to many women. It did to both your grandmothers. Your mother is exceedingly strong, in every conceivable way. She has pulled through with grace and spirit. I could have never wished for a finer partner to spend my life with. My fondest hope for all my boys is that you have the same luck I did.”

They said nothing for a few moments, watching the waves roll in and the sea birds soar. “I have met a girl, a girl I think you would approve of.”

“Oh?” His father raised his eyebrows and cast him a sidelong look.

“Yes, she is the sister of my classmate, John Conrad, you remember, his family is very much like ours. I go there frequently because they live nearby the school and I feel welcome there. John is in the level above me, so Emmeline, that’s her name, is a few months younger than I am.”

“This comes as quite a surprise. You are not yet sixteen.”

“I will be in September. And Amelia has had a beau since she was five.”

“Jay, Amelia has repeatedly assured your mother and me Wilhelm is not a beau. And even if he were, Amelia is very much of her own mind, and expresses no desire to become a countess.”

“And so is Emmy of her own mind. That’s the thing, she is much like Mama. She is always reading and can best me on nearly any topic of discussion. She has not the silly and frivolous nature of so many girls. That is why I’m, well, drawn to her. And she is quite beautiful.”

His father looked down at his hands, amusement playing across his face. “Does she play piano and embroider?”

“She plays a little. I’ve never seen her with embroidery. Why?”

“Ah, a story for another time.” He gave Jay an appraising look. “How does she regard you?”

“She has a good opinion, I believe. She always appears pleased to see me.”

“You do not have any sort of understanding then?”

“No. I am not that foolish, Papa.”

“Do you seek my advice?”

“Whatever you wish to tell me.”

“All right. As I have said, you are young. Too young. Had I the misfortune at the age of eighteen to marry the first girl I thought I was in love with, I never would have married your mother. You would never be. My life would be wholly different from the one I have. So… if it is meant to be, it will be. No need to push things. I am a firm believer in fate.”

“I think Frederick and Alicia were about the same ages when they decided they fancied one another.”

“Yes, but they did wait until they were in their twenties to marry. And they had the advantage of the existing tie between the Parkers and the Heywoods, so they knew each other’s family well. Perhaps we should have John Conrad visit here. Certainly if you are visiting them as much as you say, we need to return the courtesy. Only a few of your classmates have come this way.”

“It’s a long journey. Many of them live in London. But I would very much like that. I’ll ask him when I return to school.”

“We will first ask Mama, but I don’t believe she will object.” He looked at the sun’s position in the sky and checked his watch. “It’s getting late. We should head back. I do not wish for her to worry.”

As they walked back to their horses, Jay said, “You know, Papa, many of the boys at school are afraid of their fathers. They say they will be beaten for doing poorly at studies or some other infraction. They cannot believe when I tell them you do not give beatings. And I cannot understand why their fathers do. All but John. His father is like you. They talk about everything. Never a beating.”

“I hope to meet him someday.”

“Did your father beat you?”

“He was strict, and on a rare occasion gave a lashing. I was not afraid of him, but I often wished he would give more attention to me. I am sorry for your classmates. I remember the same from my days there.”

###

Conversation and wit always abounded at the Parker table, tonight even more so with Jay home. “Can you imagine their surprise when I tell them we have gas lights in our home? I see their faces puzzle it out. But you live in a provincial little town. How can that be so? I live in London and we do not. Yet. They always add _yet_.”

“They are happy to come to our provincial little town when their big city is hot and stinky,” said Amelia.

“In all fairness, we love to go to London, to see plays and music, and to shop,” said their mother. “It works both ways.”

“I’ll be living in London after Robert and I are married. But I will still wish to come back here,” Maggie said. Charlotte’s younger sister was finishing her third year as governess, and met her fiancé at last year’s Midsummer Ball.

“I am quite proud of my town, and my family, and I do not mind telling people,” Jay said.

“I hope you are not a braggart,” Justine rolled her eyes.

“No, I am not. I have a good reputation, I’ll have you know.”

“And what is your reputation?” asked his father.

“Well, my teachers say I am a respectable student.”

“True, they tell us so,” said his mother.

“My friends say I am loyal, and enjoyable company. I’m always chosen for a cricket team first up. I am proficient at riding and swimming. I sing in the choir, even you all tell me I sing well. I’ve even taught a few boys to box, Papa.”

“Ha! I will beat you at boxing,” said Adam.

“You cannot.”

“I will some day.”

“Aaron may best both of you some day. What do you think, Aaron?” asked his father.

“Yes!”

###

“Where did the time go?” Charlotte asked. They both lay on their backs, Sidney with one arm behind his head, the other around her waist, her hand over his. With the back of her other hand, she absentmindedly brushed to and fro across his chest. “He and Amelia are no longer children, they have fully formed adult thoughts and opinions.”

“He asked me today, about the loss; he said Amelia told him.”

“Yes, I assumed she would. It should not be a secret to them. My mother told me.”

He sighed. “Quite startled me though. Shortly after he told me he is captivated by the sister of John Conrad.”

She chuckled and looked over at him. “Is he? What did he say?”

“Well, it seems she is similar to a girl I once met. She reads books, and surpasses him in conversation, and is beautiful. Not silly and frivolous like the other girls, he says.”

“Does she play piano and embroider?”

He chuckled. “You know, I asked him that; I truly did. I could not keep a straight face. She plays a little, and he has never seen her with embroidery. He was quite curious why I asked. For another time, I said.”

“My, my, history truly does repeat itself. What is her name? Did he tell you?”

“Emmeline, though he referred to her as Emmy. I warned him about his age and the like. He has a good head on his shoulders, so I am not too concerned. I did tell him to invite John here, I trust you agree. Apparently Jay has been wearing out their doorstep as they live nearby the school.”

“Our little boy with his first blush of love. I do not know what to think.”

“How can I possibly chastise my son for being drawn to a girl whose description fits the woman I love?” He shifted onto his side and began to kiss her deeply, unhurriedly. Then he nipped at her bottom lip. “What’s this about my silver hairs being distinguished? You tell Jay but not me?”

“I’ve said so to you.” She nipped him back.

“No, you only tease me.”

“That isn’t true. And surely you know I see you as the most handsome man in the world.”

“Do you? What else do you see me as?” He reached under her gown and ran his fingers up her thigh.

“Incorrigible.” She wove her fingers through his hair.

“You’ve called me that so often, I’m beginning to believe it’s my name.”

“Well, you always _respond_.”

“Do you wish me to stop responding?” he whispered against her lips, smiling at her little gasp when his fingers reached their destination. “Hmmm? Do you?”

“No. Never stop.”

**The Fourth of June, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Goodbyes and embraces were given all around. Inside the carriage Roland waited for Jay, who gave one last farewell before climbing in. “All right, I’m off then. See you in a month.” 

The carriage rolled up the drive, Jay waving out the window as everyone waved in return, Aaron chasing after. “Aaron, take care!” his mother called.

“In two years, I will be saying goodbye,” Adam said to Amelia.

She tossed her arm around his shoulder. “What will we ever do without the master of mischief?”

“No need to worry,” he laughed and bumped her, “you have him.” He motioned to Aaron running back towards them. “He’s twice the handful I ever was.”

Aaron came to a halt in front of Adam. Jumping up and down, he pleaded, “Take me to see the puppies, Adam, please!”

“You just saw them yesterday.”

“I want to see them again!”

“Oh, all right. Mama, I’m taking him to the stable.”

“You are responsible then.”

“I know. Come on, little bit.”

“Race you!” He took off running. Adam laughed and trotted after, letting him win.

“Well ladies, shall we venture back inside and decide what today’s lessons will be?” asked Maggie. She took the girls' arms in hers and the three of them strode back to the house.

Mr and Mrs Parker found themselves quite alone out in the drive. She turned and slid her arms around his neck. His went about her waist, pulling her in. “And what do you wish to do on this fine fresh day, my love?”

“I believe a walk along the clifftops would be much to my taste.”

“Good.” He kissed her on the forehead. “My thoughts exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest thanks to all of you who have read, commented and given such lovely support. If you have an AO3 account, click the subscribe button to be notified when I begin the next story in the trilogy. Until then, stay safe and healthy. Much love, SilverFox.


	56. The Legacies Part 1 -- Hothouses and Billiards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to my fictional world! This story begins just days after the previous chapter.  
> Warning: this chapter contains discussion of miscarriage. I apologize if any readers find the subject matter distressing. I try to remain true to both real life and the actual time the story occurs.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and commenting!

**The Sixth of June, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Sidney Parker was incapable of resisting his wife, or anything she might ask of him. The latter happened so infrequently, when she did make a request, he willingly fulfilled it as soon as humanly possible. Seventeen years had passed since the day he first saw Charlotte standing on the clifftops, yet it could have been yesterday. After all this time, their passion had not faded; their love only deepened; their souls ever more entwined.

These and other thoughts sifted through Sidney’s mind as he took a pause from the work at his desk and stood at the window of his study, hands on his hips, observing the action occurring inside their latest project, Charlotte’s glasshouse, the hothouse she called it. When she approached him with the idea the autumn before last, he was not a bit surprised and of course he agreed immediately, as her attention to the grounds had developed over the years from the concerns of a farmer’s daughter for the orchard and kitchen garden into the rose enthusiast with a newfound interest in exotic plants. She thought it would be easier for the old gardener, Mr Whitcomb, to begin his seedlings in a warm place, both for the plants and his old bones. Whitcomb was hired by Sidney’s father in ’06, and had been with the Parker family ever since, he and his wife raising their family in the gardener’s cottage, and now heading into their later years. Charlotte fancied growing orchids, bromeliads, and gloxinia in her hothouse, and envisioned botany experiments for the children, exactly the activity he now watched.

The large, multi-paned casement windows along the hothouse walls were braced open, allowing his view and cooler air inside as Charlotte, Maggie, and the tutor, Mr Bentley, helped the children set up the latest experiment testing the effects of various conditions on seed germination. Even Aaron participated, with Charlotte helping him to write out his hypotheses for each. Sidney had been secretly delighted that the ideal location for the glasshouse was within clear view of his study, finding a peaceful respite in observing the goings-on. He keenly enjoyed the gardening endeavors he saw from his window. A particular favorite came in late winter before the old mulberry tree put forth its new leaves, and he could see to the far end of the garden where Charlotte and Whitcomb pruned roses for the coming spring. She was always bundled up in woolens against the chilly air, her nose red and cheeks flushed, the heavy gloves making her delicate hands seem enormous, usually one or two of the children assisting. Over the years, those small moments became even more precious to him.

When he took stock of his life, he was certain his family was his legacy -- not a resort town, or a successful business, or great wealth. He adored his children, and he readily and frequently let them know. He cherished his daughters for the strong, rational beings they were. He did not believe it was unmanly to show his sons love, and his decidedly masculine boys were proof he was correct. His family was his world, but in time the children would grow and leave, live their own lives, start their own families. But Charlotte… she was his _life,_ the reason his heart continued beating. He was nothing without her. How ironic, he thought, the berating he had given her that night on the balcony about leaving one’s mark on the world, and now through their love, their children were the mark they would both leave.

The preparation for the seed experiment appeared complete, as everyone filed out of the hothouse except Charlotte. He assumed her latest acquisition was the object of her attention, a silver vase plant she was coaxing to display its spectacular pink flowers. He smiled as he imagined the conversation she must be having with it at this very moment, and put his arms over his head in a long stretch. Then less pleasant thoughts crept into his current drift.

Something was not quite right with his Charlotte. No doubt only he noticed it, and he sensed it more than saw it, a nearly imperceptible edge to her countenance at times, thoughts she seemed to brood over on occasion but did not share with him. At first he thought it was Dr Fuchs’s warnings of the hazards facing older women bearing children, but such things were not unknown to Charlotte nor himself for that matter. Then he thought it must be the loss that continued to trouble her. He still felt a bit shaken by what happened. Without warning the scene would appear in his mind’s eye as it looked when she woke him that night, her gown and sheets soaked in blood, seeing the fear he felt reflected in her eyes. The two days of fever and delirium after.

He knew then exactly how it had been for her in Saint-Tropez. He did not leave her side, sponged her fevered brow, held her, talked to her. He allowed the children to see her, stay with her, although he did not tell them then why she was ill and she recovered before he could get a letter off to Jay. When he finally wrote, he said only that she had been ailing and was better. During that time, he focused solely on her. He simply could not lose her. When she pulled through, he felt only relief. There was little time to grieve the child, a boy Dr Fuchs had said, when he had nearly lost his beloved wife. Grief came much later for him and was laced with a strange sense of release from the apprehension over another child coming late into their lives.

A few minutes after the botany experiment, Charlotte returned to the house and gathered up the slates and books still on the terrace table. Aaron, happily finished with schooling, giggled and tussled with his puppy out on the lawn. In the past, the children adored the cats and kittens in the barn, and Mr Bainbridge’s dogs and occasional puppies he kept in the stable. But Aaron’s little fox terrier pup, a feisty character with a smooth white coat, brown head and large brown flank patch, was the first to officially find a place with the family. Rascal, as Aaron called him, still lived in the stable, but Charlotte was quite sure it was only a matter of time before Aaron would start smuggling him into the house. But she would think on that later.

She settled back in her chair on the terrace. Three years earlier, Nanny Grey had taken ill and left their employ to live with her daughter. Charlotte’s sister Margaret, known as Maggie, had come shortly after as governess, and as the boys had tutors, Charlotte never hired a replacement for the old Nanny. Jay, Amelia, Adam, and now even Justine often looked after Aaron. They delighted in teaching him his letters and numbers, and now how to read and write. He sometimes took a lesson with Adam’s tutor or Maggie. Aaron was as lively and full of vigor as his older brothers, but he minded well as they did. She was blessed, she knew, to have such children, who possessed and elevated the best of their parents. The childrearing methods she and Sidney swore by were more than unusual for the time, but the result was seen daily in their remarkable children. Her thoughts wandered back and forth between happy Aaron on the sunny lawn with Rascal and a shadowy place inside her.

As shocking, painful and sorrowful as the loss was, she could not rid herself of the small touch of relief over not having a sixth child, the thought always followed by abject guilt. Her emotions had been so jumbled when first realizing in the middle of February she was expecting again, four and a half years after Aaron’s birth. Of course she was elated, as was Sidney, but at the same time, she could not lose a small but persistent feeling of dread. She presumed those thoughts would pass, no need to concern Sidney. She never breathed a word to anyone, not even Alison. Then three weeks after her birthday, it happened, Sidney’s terrified face when she woke him, the pain and fever afterward. Her body recovered in a fortnight, but not her conscience, and the nagging thought she had caused the loss with her uncertainty. Afterwards, she would rally and tell herself the anxious feelings she had were a premonition that the child was not meant to be. Either way, she was conflicted.

Those were not the only thoughts she had yet to share with Sidney. At times, she found herself musing about the future when the children were grown and it was just the two of them again. She hoped they could travel with a freedom they hadn’t known since they were first wed. Yes, they had gone back to France twice after the first trip to Saint-Tropez, both times easier than the one before. They had stopped in Lisbon again, for several days, and Barcelona. But for the two of them to travel unfettered by the family’s needs that always came first; those were thoughts she came back to more than once in recent months, and they, too, were followed by the pangs of guilt. Her children were everything to her, why was she thinking about the future, planning for when they were grown?

Adam sauntered out from the house, finished with his studies. How tall he was for his age, and how very much like Sidney, not just in his looks, but his mannerisms, his gait, the tilting of his head when making a point or considering yours. He happily took over watching Aaron and Rascal, and she gathered the stack from the table and took it back to the schoolroom.

Sidney was still gazing out his study window and thinking at that moment he had waited long enough for her to come forward with her worries; he would have to ask her. And as it so often happened between them, his very thoughts brought her. Was that not why she kept _popping up_ those first few weeks he knew her? He heard the door and smiled, knowing without looking it was she who entered the room.

He turned and opened his arm, beckoning her. She slipped underneath it, hers around his waist, her head resting against his chest. “Are you finished with your work?” she asked.

“Not quite. Taking a moment to look at our hothouse. Are you still pleased with it?”

“Very. Why would I not be?”

He sighed and held her a bit tighter. “Of late, you seem pensive at times.” He felt her stiffen slightly. “Do you not wish to tell me why?”

Then she was the one to sigh and hold tighter. “I am afraid you will think badly of me.”

“I will never think badly of you. I care only for your happiness. And a part of you does not seem entirely happy these days. Do you still grieve? Is that it?”

She looked out the window, avoiding his eyes. “Come,” he said, taking her to the nearest chair and onto his lap. “Charlotte... please tell me.”

With her index finger, she traced the design in the brocade of his waistcoat. “Grieving, yes, in part, less so as time passes. But also self-reproach…”

He shook his head. “You mustn’t…”

She looked into his eyes now. “Tis not what you think. Yes, I was… I am grieving, but I’m also… _”_ she looked away and then back, saying pointedly, “relieved. To have another child five years after the last. Nursing and napkins and sleepless nights. I dreaded it nearly as much as I welcomed it.” She looked down again and exhaled sharply. “Terribly selfish.”

“You never spoke of it.”

She shook her head. “No. I believed it would pass; there was no need to alarm you with my muddled thinking. I had similar thoughts in the beginning with Justine and Aaron, though not as strong as these were. They did not last, and I did not think these would, but before I could set myself straight... it happened…”

“And you felt you caused it.”

She nodded. Of course he would know that.

“You know that is not possible. Even the doctor warned it could happen. This was fated to be. You must not blame yourself.”

“Yes, I understand all that in a rational way. I told myself the dread I felt came from sensing it was not meant to be, but that did not stop the remorse. Yet still, Sidney, I am _relieved_. And I know I’m several years from the change, and we could very easily have more children… and if we do, you need not fear, I will love them the same as I do the others. But you see, I am at odds with myself, and I struggle with how to manage it.” She bit her lower lip and looked away again.

He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “I am also relieved.”

She looked at him, her brow knit. “ _You_ never spoke of it.”

“As you said, it felt terribly selfish. My first concern was for you. I could not bear to think… when you fell into the fever. I had an inkling of what you went through in Saint-Tropez, staying strong and not alarming the children, yet terrified of losing you. All that mattered to me was your recovery.” He kissed her softly on her temple.

“That is different than feeling relieved… the way I do.”

“But I feel that as well for the same reasons, and grief over the loss just as you have. Those emotions are not incompatible.”

“Do you truly think so?”

He held her hand to his lips and kissed across it, then looked straight into her eyes. “Yes, my love, I do. We agreed at the beginning if we had twelve children, so be it. I, too, will cherish all, no matter when they come. But these other thoughts and feelings are natural, are they not, at this time in our lives, with five children already? I would be six and sixty when a child born now came of age. I wonder how much of myself I would have left to offer by that time, for a boy to have an old man for a father as he first makes his way into the world. As it is, I will turn sixty when Aaron is twenty. We haven’t had our children raised by nurses and nannies with us stopping in for an hour a day to pat them on the head, as so many do. They are an integral part of our lives. And so they will always be. Rearing them, nurturing them, it’s required a great deal of time and attention, especially from you.”

A look of doubt crossed her face as she sighed. “I see my parents, how old they grew raising twelve of us, how worn and aged before their time. I do not wish to end with everything spent, exhausted, nothing left for us. I think about traveling, just we two, before we are too old. Take a steamer up the Nile, go to Italy, or the Americas. Rio de Janeiro. New York. See how selfish I am?”

“There is nothing selfish about planning what we will do when the children are grown. We have not been selfish, Charlotte. I reflect often lately on the business and what will happen with it. I see Tom and his reluctance to let go. I do not wish to be so. But will Jay want to continue it? Or will it pass to Adam or even Aaron? It’s too early to discuss anything with the boys, but I certainly think about it.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I kept this from you. I had not the words until now.”

“As am I. I thought I would only add to your burden. How is it possible after seventeen years together we still have things to learn about each other?”

“We had not lost a child before.”

“No, we had not.”

For a time they rested without speaking, fingers intertwined. Then she tilted her head back, reached up, and slid her hand to the nape of his neck. “Should I let you get back to work?”

“No.” He kissed her long and deep. “The work can wait.” He held her closer and rested his head on hers. “I’m contented to sit as we are.” After a moment or two, he chuckled and lifted his head to look at her. “A steamer up the Nile?”

“Why not? Or to Rome? We’ve not yet been to Italy.”

He smiled and dropped his head back against hers. “Considering Aaron is only five, we have plenty of time to decide.

**The Seventh of June, 1836**

_Sanditon_

“And how are things with Jenny?” Charlotte asked Mary, who bounced her cooing grandson on her lap. The two sisters enjoyed tea together in the courtyard behind Trafalgar House, now fully shaded by the trees Tom had planted when the house was first built. Though his vision took time to be realized, it was sound in the end.

“Oh, she is doing so well. A letter arrived just yesterday from Saint-Tropez. It was quite brief, only to reassure us she and her companion, Miss Dunning, had arrived safe and sound, promising to write again soon.”

“So she’s there for the summer?”

“Yes, Paris is just as hot and unpleasant as London in the summer months so she is happy to flee south. And of course, the Académie Royale is willing to give students time to travel and practice between sessions.”

“We never expected our trip to France to result in Jenny the artist, did we?”

“Charlotte, I never imagined a third of the twists and turns my life has taken. Alicia and Frederick, and being a grandmother!” She tapped little Daniel’s nose with her fingertip. “Tom and his illness, his continued recovery. I tell you, my dear, we have not had many dull moments in the Parker family, have we?”

“No indeed! And now the eighteenth regatta next week. The seventeenth ladies sale. It seems no sooner one is over it’s time for the next.”

“But how nice for us the younger ones now take the lead. I love simply showing up for the events and enjoying them. Somehow I don’t think Tom will ever be able to do so.”

“I think you are right about Tom, but Sidney is very contented not to play cricket or race. He does still love to dance, though.”

“Soon Amelia will be clamoring to go to the balls, do you not think?”

“Perhaps. She has not expressed much interest thus far. But she’s only thirteen. Right now she is completely engrossed in her writing. She and Jenny have discussed doing a real travelogue when Amelia is older, did you know that?”

“I did not. That was such a turning point for Jenny. I think Amelia helped Jenny far more than she ever realized. But what of Wilhelm?”

“Amelia insists they are dear friends and nothing else. We have to take her word for it.”

“Time will tell. We cannot live their lives for them, can we?”

Charlotte shook her head.

“And the Molyneuxs are coming?” Mary asked.

“I believe so, most likely for the rest of the summer as usual.”

After their second child, Cora, was born, Otis and Georgiana had purchased one of the large apartments in the newest building in Sanditon. London had become more and more unbearable in the summer, the fetid air and dreaded diseases that struck rich and poor alike, especially the “summer diarrhea” that took so many infants. It made good sense to enjoy the company of their friends while maintaining their health in the fine sea air.

Alicia joined them, kissing Charlotte on the cheek. “Hello dear Sauntie,” the endearment her private jest with Charlotte, who by marriage was both her aunt and her sister. “And how is my little man, Mother? Has he been good for you?”

“He’s an angel,” replied Mary, “and ready for his nap I suspect.” She handed Daniel to his mother, who kissed and cooed over him. “He looks like Frederick, does he not?”

Charlotte gazed at Alicia with her golden hair and blue eyes. “He does for now, but his looks will change over time. One thing we do know is he will be a handsome fellow.”

Alicia laughed. “The handsome fellow needs a napkin change. Give my love to all. Tell Amelia and Justine to visit soon.”

A reflective mood settled over Mary’s features as she watched Alicia leave. “One daughter is the epitome of domesticity. The other is a bohemian to the core. One son is determined to follow in his father’s footsteps. The other wishes to do anything but. How does that happen? They were all raised the same way.”

“They are their own masters. We only hold sway for a time, I think. We do what we can to instill the fundamentals of right and wrong, give them the haven to grow and learn, and then we must step back and hope we did it well. The rest is up to them.”

“Well spoken, my dear sister, well spoken.”

**The Eleventh of June, 1836**

_Sanditon_

“The lag is yours, Babington,” said Sidney. Babington had recently bought a carom billiards table for Sanditon House. Babington placed the balls and immediately hit three sides and two objects.

“Score,” he said.

Sidney quickly repeated the feat. “Score.”

“How is Jay managing Winchester these days?” Babington asked. “I still hesitate about Anthony starting next term.”

“Ah,” said Sidney, “no doubt Jay would receive a finer education at home, in truth his home teaching is one of the reasons he does so well at Winchester. I give him the opportunity every summer to say no to returning, but he wishes to. It is not simply the academics, he is learning to deal with his fellow man. And he does well in that regard. He seems to be a leader, but a good one, not a bully. I suppose it would be different if we lived full time in London, but here, the children are sheltered, shall we say. I think he benefits from the company of so many boys his age.”

“Jay doesn’t have a bullying bone in his body,” said Babington. “He’s a fine young man, you know that my friend.”

“I hope so, and thank you. Adam is eager to start. Not quite sure how I feel about it.”

“Marcus, as well. Can you imagine unleashing those two on Winchester? And if Otis decides to send George? It will be the merry boys all over again. We nearly were expelled, what mischief would those three get into?”

“What a lashing I took from my father that first year.”

“God yes, so did I. And Crowe.”

“But Adam… I do think he is more responsible than I ever was thanks to Charlotte. I do not predict we will need to send him half way across the globe for him to learn to behave.” He missed his shot and scowled. “If Anthony doesn’t attend Winchester, will you have tutors, or Eton perhaps? Break the family tradition?”

“Tutors, I think. But perhaps you are right. I should leave it to him. Jay will be there, after all.”

“Look at us. Two old men playing billiards and discussing their sons’ education. Did you ever?”

They both snickered. “No, old man, I never would have seen it. What dandies we were back then.”

“And how much better life is now, eh?”

“Infinitely better.”

“Yes, infinitely. I would not change it for all the world.”

“We are tamed, are we not? Old bulls led by the ring in our noses. Oh, good shot!”

“I take exception to that my dear Lord Babington. I am not led. I gladly follow of my own free will.”

“Touché.”

“Charlotte says after the children are grown she wants to travel up the Nile by steamer.”

Babington guffawed. “I hope I can still _walk_ when the children are grown. No doubt she will bring back specimens for her hothouse.”

“She has quite the touch, you know.”

“Oh yes, Esther talks of nothing but orchids after every visit. Next thing I know she’ll be planning our trip up the Nile for the year 1850.”

“You should send the children over to see the botany experiments. Quite impressive.”

“Why, then invite us.”

“Done. Although you know you are welcome any time. Just let us know when you wish to come.”

“Blasted regatta and sale this week.”

“And the ball.”

“Yes, but I like that.”

“As do I. We do so little now for those events. It’s more for the children. And Tom.”

“Keeps him busy, though. Score.”

“Drives Henry and Frederick to the brink of insanity.”

“Better them than us.”

Sidney burst into laughter and missed his shot. “You did that on purpose you old goat,” he said, still chuckling.

“Tis true, is it not?”

“Oh, yes… no truer words were spoken.”


	57. A Tradition and a Visit

**The Eighteenth of June, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Lowenna Kellow, a sweet young woman from Truro, became Charlotte's lady's maid when Haskell left to marry a local shopkeeper. Kellow now positioned a single orchid flower in Charlotte’s hair, held in place by the hair clip with a little golden hand, Sidney's eighth anniversary gift in Saint-Tropez that Jay helped choose. She turned her head to admire Kellow’s work and how the orchid with petals of ivory white and a golden center matched her gown to perfection. Charlotte thanked the maid and sent her on to Maggie with an orchid for her hair. This was an anniversary for Maggie as well. Last year at the Midsummer Ball, she met he fiancé, Robert Godfrey, an up and coming London barrister.

Once alone, Charlotte stood and scrutinized herself in the mirror. How happy she was that the awful fashion of gigot sleeves had finally waned. When Susan told her last winter the spring styles from Paris were sans those monstrous puffs, she was overjoyed, as was Susan. Her London modiste, who also happened to be Susan’s, created the lovely silk gown she wore tonight, still swept well off the neck and shoulders with a daring décolletage, but the sleeves were manageable from shoulder to elbow where they were pleated and then opened to a bouffant, finishing in a tight lower sleeve. The complex undergarments necessary to keep the massive gigot sleeves inflated, the braces and stuffing, all were gone. Thank heavens! For years she had also rejected the corset that would squeeze the waist of a woman of her age who had borne five children to a mere eighteen inches. She refused to wear one. It was torture, plain and simple. If her waist was reduced to only three and twenty inches by a sensible corset and her clothes specially made, so be it. She did not have to listen to Dr Fuchs’s horror stories to understand how truly awful those corsets were. Besides, her ample bosom helped to give the appearance her waist was small. Certainly Sidney did not care about the size of her waist, and his opinion was all that mattered. She sat back down to don her pearl earrings.

Sidney himself stepped into her dressing room, handsome as ever, tall and trim in his black tailcoat with satin lapels, and high fashion black pantaloons, a gold and ivory colored silk waistcoat. He made a point to match his waistcoat to her gown and except for the first Midsummer Ball, he had done so since Mrs Maudsley’s ball in ’19.

“There must be no question whom you are with,” he always said.

They often wore gold coupled with a shade of creamy white, all the way back to their wedding, as it suited their dark hair and eyes, and he was fond of presenting her with gold and pearl jewelry. She had long ago insisted he cease giving her a gift for the Midsummer Ball, but the ritual continued that he must adorn her with a necklace, as he would now, the delicate seed pearl torsade he had given her near a decade ago. At times it felt the small ceremonies they kept ensured their life’s compass held to true north. A stranger may have found it frivolous and trivial, but to them, it simply affirmed their love.

He pulled a chair up behind hers and seated himself, gazing at their reflection. “How exquisite you are,” he said softly into her hair. “You put the orchid to shame.” He left a path of soft kisses beginning at her round shoulder and across, then up her neck and to his favorite place, the hollow just beneath her ear. She watched for a moment before succumbing to the sensation, tilting her head back as he slipped his hand inside her bodice. When she recovered and opened her eyes, he met her regard in the glass, a knowing smile touching the corners of his mouth. He lifted the pearl choker from its box and draped it around her neck, brushing her skin under the enameled clasp with another kiss before he secured it.

Eventually they made their way to the great room, where the children waited to say goodbye.

“Oh you look so beautiful, Mama!” said Justine. “You and Papa will be the handsomest couple at the ball.”

“Why are you so late? Maggie and Robert have already left.” Aaron said.

Robert and Maggie traveled in a separate carriage with approval from Sidney and Charlotte, who themselves had flouted the rules of chaperoning on more than one occasion before they wed. The young couple had their own friends to mingle with, and did not wish to inconvenience the Parkers if they chose to stay later.

“Ah, because they are younger and eager, whilst we are older and patient,” said his father with a little smile, taking the crimson silk shawl from Kellow and draping it over Charlotte’s shoulders.

She looped it through her arms and said, “Roland and Kellow are here if you require assistance. Amelia, you are in charge of your brothers and sister.”

One raised eyebrow on his father’s face halted Adam’s silent protest mid-eye roll. “Oh, very well,” he mumbled.

“And I expect you all to be sound asleep by the time we return. We’ll tell you all about it in the morning.” She kissed each one on the cheek and gave hers for the return.

Roland handed Sidney his hat. Sidney gave Charlotte his arm, and the two of them swept out the old carved front door and into the waiting carriage.

“I’ve not seen that little hair clip for some time,” he said as the carriage traveled along the coast road towards Sanditon.

“Perhaps a year or two since last I wore it.”

“As I seem to recall, you never finished reading aloud the Wordsworth poetry you gifted me that anniversary.”

“As I seem to recall, we were distracted by a bowl of grapes.”

He gave her a sidelong look and chuckled. “Still easily distracted, are we not?”

“Well, perhaps I will find the book and read it to you… to test your theory.”

“Ah, but it depends on where we are when you read.”

“We can test those various conditions then.”

“Hmm, various rooms?” He leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Various positions?”

“Incorrigible,” she said, her eyes laughing.

He sat back and gave her a contented grin. “At your service, my love.”

###

The Sanditon assembly rooms already groaned with guests, all bedecked in the height of London fashion. The Parkers made their way around the room, finally spying the Molyneuxs with the Babingtons. Georgiana looked positively dazzling in a gown of deep pink silk, her hair piled high atop her head. Esther glowed in sea foam green, her ginger curls a beautiful contrast.

Just as the three couples began conversations, Tom’s tall, thin, long-legged form stepped into the center of the dance floor where he called for attention to give the welcome. As always, his fine attire spoke well for him. His hair had now taken on the pale blonde hue that silver and light brown create. His face was deeply lined, testament to his years of travail, but here in his element, he shone brightly with beaming smile and joyful eyes. He ate, slept and breathed Sanditon, and would until the very end. Mary looked on, the elegant matriarch in a gown of sapphire blue, her face full of love. Tom had tried her patience more than a few times in their life together, but she remained unwavering in her support. Tom Parker was a lucky man, and finally, he had come to realize it.

The musicians began to play. The first couples took their places on the floor. The Crowes joined the group of friends; Clara radiant in cornflower blue. They all chatted and mingled and danced, the crowd large but entirely well behaved. Sidney and Charlotte both looked to the balcony on occasion, but it was always occupied, so they put it from their minds and danced. And not once did anyone question who accompanied the lovely woman in a gown of gold and ivory with a crimson shawl laced through her arms.

**The Second of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

It was mid-afternoon when the Berline came to a stop in the drive of the Old Parker House. Roland emerged first, holding the door for Jay, who fairly leapt out, followed by a tall young man with thick black hair and golden skin and eyes.

“Here we are, Conrad! Come and meet my family.”

No sooner had he spoken, the front door was thrown open and an ecstatic Aaron came barreling out to greet his brother, followed by Rascal, who barked and wiggled and jumped. “Jay! Jay!” Aaron called, arms open as he ran.

Jay met him with the usual hoist into the air, laughing and spinning about. He set Aaron back on his feet and with his hand on the top of Aaron’s head he said, “Aaron, this is my friend, John Conrad. Conrad, _this_ is my youngest brother, Aaron Parker.”

Aaron stood tall and straight, extending his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Conrad.”

John chuckled and shook the boy’s offered hand. “As I am yours. And who is this?” John motioned to the dancing puppy at Aaron’s side.

“Rascal. He’s quite friendly. You can give him a pat.”

John bent down and scratched the puppy on his head. “Hello there, little Rascal. I suppose your name has significance?”

“Indeed,” replied Jay, “although whether boy or puppy is the bigger one is subject to debate. And since when does Mama allow him inside?”

”She does not know… he followed me.”

“Little bit, she will certainly know. And should he piddle inside, you my boy will never hear the end of it.”

“Are you not housetraining him?” asked John.

“Mr Bainbridge is supposed to help me with that,” said Aaron.

“Perhaps if your Mama is confident he will not foul the floors, she might be more forgiving. I can help you as well.”

“Yes, your Kutaro is a very well behaved dog,” Jay said to his friend while tousling his brother’s hair.

“Is that your dog’s name?” asked Aaron.

“Yes, Kutaro. It means dog in Gujarati.”

“A language in India?”

“One of them.”

“Is that where you are from?”

“My mother is from India. My father is English. I was born right here in England.”

“All right, enough questions now. Please come in,” said Jay, leading the way to the door. “Aaron, where is everyone?”

“Out on the terrace.”

“Papa as well?”

“He and Adam are boxing,” Aaron said with glee. “Papa says Adam is doing as well as you.”

“Ha!” laughed Jay. “We shall see about that!”

Roland saw to the trunks and luggage as the boys stepped inside. Aaron and Rascal raced ahead of Jay, who led John through the house and out the double doors leading to the terrace where his mother, Maggie, and sisters took tea. Out on the lawn, his father and brother practiced boxing as Aaron resumed his seat on the grass, watching the action with Rascal in his lap.

Charlotte looked over as her oldest son stepped outside. “Jay! You are here.”

Jay moved swiftly to his mother and took her hands, kissing her on both cheeks, then quickly making introductions between John and the ladies. Before anyone could continue, Adam whooped from the lawn, and Jay ran to greet him, back slapping and lifting. Adam had Jay up so high he nearly lost touch with the ground. “By the end of the summer, I will best you!” Adam boasted.

Sidney was rolling his sleeves back down after his boxing bout with his second son when Jay made those introductions. “So honored to meet you, Mr Parker,” John said, “and thank you for your invitation.”

Charlotte called from the terrace. “Go change now, you two. A fresh pot will be here when you return.”

When the two boys were gone, Justine whispered to Amelia, “I believe he is the handsomest boy I have ever seen.”

Amelia pursed her lips. “Do not go on like a silly girl, Justine. You are eight years old and hardly an expert.”

“Do you not agree?”

“I think he is very pleasing to look at, but I will certainly not conduct myself any differently than I would towards any young man. Propriety please, my dear sister.”

###

A convivial atmosphere graced the Parker dinner table that evening, as it almost always did. John Conrad’s manners were impeccable, his wit delightful. He dutifully answered Mr Parker’s questions about his family. His father was a surveyor and geographer, went to India in 1816 to work in the Great Trigonometrical Survey led by Major William Lambton. Mr Edmund Conrad met John’s mother, Darshini, in Jamnagar, a city in Gujarat on the western coast. Her father was a successful textile merchant who did business with the East India Company. Conrad married her and returned to Britain shortly before John was born. John had a sister, Emmeline, and a younger brother, David. His father now directed a division of government surveyors who mapped British cities and towns in the Ordnance Survey.

By the end of the meal, the boys were planning their activities for the fortnight John would stay, Adam and Aaron eagerly seeking to be included. Before it became too late and too dark, Jay took John on a tour of the grounds, stopping in at the stable to say hello to horses. Adam and Aaron tagged along amicably.

At evening’s end, Sidney reclined in his usual chair near the fireplace in their chamber, the door to Charlotte’s dressing room open and she in full view. As Kellow brushed her hair, Charlotte asked, “Are there many silver hairs so far?”

“No, ma’am, nearly none. Your hair is still as thick and dark as your sister’s, even your daughter’s.”

“Well, Margaret is closer in age to Amelia than she is to me. I was eighteen when she was born.”

“Truly, your mother had twelve and all survived. Surely that’s a miracle.”

“Yes, quite, and a full, very busy farming household. Even with the help of her daughters and servants, my dear mother never had a quiet moment to herself.”

“I can imagine.”

“Do you have a large family, Kellow?”

“Six of us. I was the last. My mother passed from a fever when I was a babe and my father never remarried.”

“Oh, I am so sorry…”

“Ah, I never knew her. It was hard on the older ones and my father. His sister came to live with us, and she was like a mother to me. Well, there you are, all plaited. Is there anything else I may do for you this evening?”

She thanked Kellow, who began to gather clothing and tidy up. Charlotte closed the door behind her and crossed to Sidney, who set down his book, stood and snuffed the reading candle. There were gaslights in the room, but they both preferred the softness of candlelight in their chamber at bedtime.

She laced her fingers through his hair. “Kellow says my hair is as dark as Maggie’s.”

“So was mine six years ago. Be happy I still have all my hair, unlike some men.”

“Why I think Lord Babington looks handsome with his open pate.”

Sidney chuckled. “He does not think so.”

“Rest assured, Sidney Parker, even if your head were as smooth and hairless as an egg, I would still adore you.”

They crossed to the bed, removing robes and sliding into the sheets. He stretched out on his back and she propped herself up on one elbow, slipping her hand inside his nightshirt to stroke his chest.

“Did he tell you John’s mother was Indian?” she asked.

“Not a word. Did he tell you?”

“No. Quite extraordinary. He did not think it mattered. I believe we have done something right here.”

“True. It never occurred to him he should say. He’s been exposed all his life to Georgiana and Otis. Their children are nothing short of siblings. He has listened to countless orations from Otis about the equality of all races. Completely natural to him. Unfortunately it is not to others.”

“Do you mean if he should…? I do not even know how to phrase this… if he should become serious about Emmeline? I must say, if she is half as beautiful as John is handsome, I see why Jay is taken with her. Even Justine whispered to Amelia about his looks.”

“The boys became friends when Jay defended John at school. It is a blessing, I think, that John lives at home. If he boarded there… suffice to say when the boys are unsupervised, the true colors come out. Jay taught John to box after putting a few curs in their place for abusing John about his race. It is the browbeaten boys Jay teaches to box.”

“Did he say so?”

“John did this afternoon.”

“Do you believe Jay will face repercussions?”

“From the school? No. They know he’s a fine boy and a good student. They don’t like the bullying, but do turn a blind eye, especially when the tormentor is the son of a peer.”

“And what about the other boys in the school?”

His lower lip pushed to the upper in the little sneering expression he made for something disdainful. “He is a leader. He’s smart, shrewd, and strong. All the worries we had for him when he was younger… he has proven us wrong.”

“What of Adam? Should we have a concern with him?”

“Adam? He’s another story, but I do think he will succeed in a different manner than Jay.”

“I feel sometimes he is so bellicose.”

“He is competitive, not antagonistic. Believe it or not, there is a difference. He is a second son. He feels the need to prove himself, despite that we do not treat them differently, society does. Jay as first son has all the assumed advantages. Adam and Aaron will have to compete for their place.”

“Not in our family!”

“No my love, in the world. Leave Adam to me. He will do well, I promise you.” His eyes were closed, his face a bit slack.

“You are tired, snuff the candle.”

“Boxed for hours with those boys.”

“Yes, you did. Who won?”

“Who do you think?”

“The paterfamilias?”

He chuckled, soft and low in his throat. “I have to challenge them. Someday I will let them best me, but only when I think they are ready.”

She sighed and put her head to the pillow, admiring his profile in the candlelight. Shortly after, she knew he had fallen into slumber by the sound of his breathing. She carefully raised herself up so not to disturb him and blew out the flame.


	58. Getting to Know You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continuing support!

**The Third of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

“When we return from services, Papa, may I take Jack out so Conrad can ride Titan?”

“Yes, of course,” his father replied, setting down his coffee cup. “He’s a bit temperamental on occasion, so take care. No racing.”

“No, we will not race, do not worry.”

“It is a fine day for riding,” said his mother.

Amelia lavished orange marmalade on a last bite of toast, then turning to John, who sat to her left, she asked, “Mr Conrad, may I inquire if you enjoy Shakespeare?”

John flashed a dazzling grin, his handsome face made even more so by the expression. “Why yes, Miss Parker, I very much enjoy the Bard’s work. Why do you ask?”

“Towards the end of your stay with us, we shall be attending a gathering at Sanditon House with all of our family’s dearest friends. Several of us are arranging an entertainment with a stage reading of Shakespeare, and I wondered if you would care to participate?”

“That sounds intriguing,” said John. “What play were you considering?”

“We thought Midsummer Night’s Dream befitting for the season. Only select scenes, not the entire play. ”

“Do explain,” said her mother.

“Phoebe, Sophie, and I plan to entertain you all with a reading. I finished an analysis of the play just last week, did I not Aunt Maggie?”

“Yes, you did,” Maggie replied, casting Charlotte an assuaging look.

“We three girls have had the idea of an entertainment for some time. Do you object, Mama?”

“I have no objection. I was simply curious, and I think it is a splendid idea.”

Amelia turned again to John, who studied her intently. “So, Mr Conrad, would you be willing participate? And Jay, of course, I assume you will.”

“Never short of assumptions Amelia?” said Jay.

Sidney choked on his coffee.

“Are you all right, Papa?” asked Justine, patting him on the back.

“Yes, yes,” he said, glancing at Charlotte who eyed him with great amusement.

“I would be delighted, Miss Parker,” John said. Turning to Jay he added, “And I’m sure you will be as well.”

“I can assure you, my friend, even if I were not willing, my dear sister would find a way to coerce me.” He tossed her a gleeful look. “Would you not?”

“Take care, brother, or I may cast you as Bottom and have you wear an ass’s head.”

Jay gave a dramatic sniff. “Surely I should play Oberon.”

“In fact, we have not cast anyone just yet, except for Puck. We all three believe the character could be done justice only by our own master of mischief.” She looked at Adam. “Do you not agree, Adam?”

“Me? Mischievous?” replied Adam, wide eyed, feigning innocence. “It was not I who put that toad in your bed last week, dear sister. I merely rescued him from your dangerous clutches and removed him to the safety of the garden.” 

“And most kindly back to the spot where you found him,” piped up Aaron, quite sure his addition to the conversation was helpful.

A tight smile on her face and brows raised, the corner of Amelia’s eye twitched as she scrutinized her brother. Adam answered with his sweetest grin. “Well, perhaps I could play Puck, but only if George or Marcus plays Nick Bottom. I would like the pleasure of giving one of them an ass’s head.”

“You see,” said Jay. “And I should play Oberon, King of the Fairies and _master_ of Puck.”

Adam rolled his eyes.

“Phoebe and I will exchange notes after the service,” Amelia replied.

“And if we are to be on time, we must leave soon,” their father said, checking his watch. “It’s too late to walk now; I will have to call for the carriage.”

“Yes, off you all go to make ready. We leave in half an hour,” said their mother. “Do not dawdle.”

“And what of me, Amelia,” Justine demanded as they left the table. “What role do you plan for _me?”_

“Oh, Justine, we have not yet decided,” she tossed over her shoulder as Justine hurried after. “Do not worry, I will ensure you have a lovely part.”

Mr and Mrs Parker long ago adopted the belief that the dining table was not the place for parental pontification. They encouraged the children to take part in the conversation, and as the children grew, it became a subtle way for their parents to observe and later discuss, as they did now in the privacy of their chamber. Being Sunday, the servants were given their leave to attend services, and few to no duties were required of them. Kellow attended to Charlotte’s hair earlier in the morning and laid out her attire for easy changing.

“And what did you make of it all?” asked Charlotte as Sidney unbuttoned her morning dress.

“Where do I start? The assumptions comment?”

“He _is_ his father’s son.”

“Yes, he is. Say no more. And Adam putting a toad in Amelia’s bed is not surprising in itself, but that they said nothing about it at the time…”

“They seem to be learning to manage their squabbles quite well on their own, I think.” She slid the dress down and stepped out of it. “But we must discuss a certain young gentleman…” Taking advantage of his position behind and her undress, he wrapped his arms about her and pulled her in, kissing the back of her neck. “Sidney…”

“Mmmm?”

“I cannot dawdle when I warned them against it.”

“And I cannot resist you,” he murmured against her cheek. “My fatal flaw.”

She leaned her head back. “And now I have forgotten what I was to say.”

“Did I distract you?”

“Sidney…”

“Very well. This afternoon we’ll have more time.” He reluctantly released her. “A certain young gentleman, you were saying.”

“Help me.” She had the skirt over her head and required him to pull it down, assisting her wiggling into the sleeves. “Yes, young John Conrad has set the house astir, do you not think?”

“Quite the opposite. He is fascinated with Amelia and she cares not to notice.”

“Ah, but Justine is heartbroken that his attention is on Amelia.”

“Justine is eight.”

“Indeed. She is also already full of longing for beauty and poetry and love. I can only think it was due to her birthplace.”

He made a face of incredulity. “I jest, Mr Parker. Button me, please.”

“If young Conrad is interested in winning our Amelia some day, he will have to line up behind Wilhelm. That boy has been besotted for near a decade.”

“She has no interest in the notion of future marriage. None whatsoever.”

“So you said of yourself and look what happened.” He finished buttoning her.

She turned and faced him. “You jest now.”

“Of course I do, _materfamilias_.” He half attempted to hide a smirk.

“Do you wish to tread on thin ice, Mr Parker?”

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed her soundly. “Never. I love you far too much.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it and kissed him back.

He slipped into his coat. She tidied her hair and pinched her cheeks, then donned a straw bonnet adorned with silk flowers, and a pleated blue silk lining and ribbon that matched her dress. When both were fully attired, he opened the door and escorted her out.

###

Two young men on horseback trotted along the clifftops. When they reached the “talking spot,” Jay suggested they stop to take in the view. Once settled and gazing out over the panoply of blue, Jay said, “This has always been a favorite place for my father and me to stop and talk.”

“It is a fine spot. And your father is a fine man.”

“Do you think so? Of course, I do, but I have great regard for _your_ father. I am pleased you can feel the same about mine.”

“I remember you once remarked our families were much alike, but I observe they are also much different.”

“In what way, besides there being two more.”

“Your family is more jovial, boisterous even. My family is much under the influence of my mother’s traditions.”

“I find being with your family is peaceful and comfortable. Ah, well, as Ovid wrote, the harvest is always richer in another man’s field.”

“Your sister is remarkable.”

“Amelia?”

“Yes. She is intelligent and bold. And if it is not too improper for me to note, she is also very beautiful.”

“No, not improper. I have said the same of your sister. Amelia resembles our mother.”

“She does. And your mother is indeed beautiful.”

Jay nodded in agreement. “I call Amelia, the genius. There seems to be nothing she cannot master. Justine is the same way, but she has a more artistic and sensitive character.”

“She seems far older than thirteen.”

“In all fairness, she is thirteen _and a half_.” He chuckled and shook his head. “She has always been ahead of her age. We had an old nanny, Nanny Grey she was aptly named, as everything about her was. But she was a kind, sweet soul. She helped my mother with our lessons, and Amelia always had the same as I did, despite being two years younger. Then one day Nanny began to give me more difficult lessons than Amelia. I smugly thought I was finally superior, only to find later on that Amelia had requested it of Nanny so I would not feel the lesser. While I was struggling with mathematics problems Amelia had already mastered, she was learning German from Wilhelm.”

“Who is Wilhelm?”

“Ah, Wilhelm. He is the son of a German count, an acquaintance of my father and old friend of my Uncle Francis. We were returning from France the first time on a packet ship, and the count and his family boarded at Lisbon. Poor Wilhelm was immediately smitten with my five year old sister and has been ever since. They correspond solely in German.”

“Does she feel the same for him?”

“She has always asserted he is a friend only.”

John looked out over the sea and chose to change the subject. “Are we to sea bathe today?”

“Yes, my friend, we are. Come, let’s return. I don’t wish my mother to think we have fallen off a cliff.”

But at that very moment, his mother was thinking no such thing. She was far too distracted testing various conditions with his father.

**The Fifth of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Amelia awoke early, anxious to start writing the narration section of the planned entertainment. She often achieved her best work in the cool morning before her family awoke, and after a quick splash of water on her face and toothpowder polishing of her teeth, she brushed her hair but left it down, donned a morning dress and headed for the terrace with notebook, pencil, and the heavy volume of Shakespeare’s Comedies.

The sun was just beginning to glow through the trees and dew still on the grass when she seated herself at the table and began. So engrossed she was after a time, she did not notice she had company until he was standing next to the table. She looked up, startled. “Mr Conrad.”

“Miss Parker. I apologize if I gave you a start. Do you mind if I sit here?”

“Yes, I mean no, feel free to have a seat. I am writing the narration for our reading. Piecing the scenes together, as we will not perform the entire play.”

He pulled the chair out and settled his tall frame into it. “Please continue with your writing; no need to entertain me. I rose early and always enjoy this time of the morning.” He gazed out over the lawn and garden.

“As do I.” She set her pencil down. “And what do you make of our dear abode?”

“Ah, I find its uniqueness only surpassed by its loveliness.”

“Oh?”

“Well, unique in that it is next to the sea, yet it has the feel of being out in the countryside. The house is of an age, and yet modern. And its loveliness, just look, the golden summer sunrise through the trees, the sweet scent of the meadow, the touch of the cool morning breeze, the distant sound of the sea…”

“All we are missing is the taste of breakfast,” she quipped.

He flashed his arresting grin. “You are too quick for the likes of me, Miss Parker. Here I thought I was being poetic.”

“You were… being poetic that is.” For the first time she noticed the color of his eyes, almost amber they were with long, dark lashes and thick, expressive eyebrows. His nose so very well shaped, his lips full and well formed. His skin so smooth, and the color, what was it? Light golden brown? She realized she had been staring at him and quickly averted her eyes, although she thought he had returned her stare with equal strength.

“This will be your final year at Winchester, I understand.”

“Yes, then I hope to attend Oxford.”

“Do you wish to become a surveyor as your father is?”

“Not necessarily. I do lean toward engineering. Quite fascinated with the locomotive and transportation in general.”

“How liberating it must be to have a choice.”

“My sister says the very same.”

“I would no doubt enjoy a conversation with her.”

“Indeed, as she would with you.”

“Have you seen the hothouse?”

“Briefly on my first night. Perhaps you could guide me through sometime soon?”

“I suppose it depends on your itinerary with Jay…”

“What about me?” Jay asked, stepping out onto the terrace holding a slice of toast. “Conrad, up early as always I see.”

“We were discussing a tour of the hothouse,” John replied.

“Capital idea, we’ll go after breakfast.”

Amelia distinctly observed a small expression cross John’s face… disappointment? “Is the sideboard set?” she asked Jay, nodding towards his toast.

“Yes, all set, but I must say this new cook does not understand how to make brioche.”

“Then please set her straight. We’ve all been complaining to Mama about it, even Papa has. Well gentlemen, I am off to break my fast.” She gathered her notebook and Shakespeare and headed to the breakfast room.

“You know how to make brioche?” John asked.

“Long story for another time. Come, let’s eat.”

All but Mama and Maggie were already seated when Amelia entered, the two boys just behind her. As she helped herself from the sideboard, her mother and aunt arrived.

“Good morning, I trust you all slept well,” her mother said, cupping little Aaron’s chin. He tipped his head back and smiled.

“Good morning, Mama.”

She kissed his forehead and patted his cheek, as the others murmured their salutations.

“Mrs Parker, good morning,” said John. “I slept very well, thank you. I find the sea air both invigorating and soothing.”

“Well put,” said Mrs Parker, “I had the very same thought when I first arrived here in Sanditon back in 1819.”

Sidney looked up from the shipping schedules, sighed and tossed down his newspaper. “ _The Duchess_ is delayed for another week.”

“Do you have a shipment arrival?” asked Charlotte. “I thought you…”

“No, only a departure, slated for _The Duchess_ , but she is delayed and therefore my shipment is.”

“Can you not change ships?” asked Maggie.

“Yes, but it is troublesome, especially with the insurance policy, which I have already paid. They take into account the ship, the captain, the number of crew. By the time I changed to another ship, _The Duchess_ would be here.”

“Will you teach me all this?” asked Jay.

His father looked up from his breakfast, a bit surprised. “Of course I will, if you decide to take over the business. But as I have always told you and your brothers, it is not required. You are free to pursue your own occupations, or own the company jointly and run it as a family enterprise, or own it on your own if the others have no interest. It all depends on what you boys decide. If not, I will sell it when the time comes.”

“And then what?” asked Adam.

“Your mother and I will travel to faraway lands.” He looked at his wife and winked.

“Precisely what my parents say their future will be when we are all grown,” said John. “Most definitely back to India.”

“Have you been there?” asked Justine, determined to catch his attention.

“To India? Only once. It is a very long journey and requires a long stay.”

“And how did you find it?” she continued.

“Funny you should ask, I found it exactly as my mother had described, so it seemed familiar, and yet at the same time, an assault on my English senses. The colors and sounds and smells… I had no frame of reference for them. It was exhausting, but I wanted to know it all.”

“I know exactly of what you speak,” said Mr Parker. “It was the same for me when I stepped off the ship in Antigua.”

“Ah yes, Parker told me you had been there, for how many years?”

“Well over eight.”

“You have not been back?”

“No, and most likely never will. I returned a hardened and cynical young man.” Then his voice softened and filled with mirth. “ _Until_ I met a certain farmer’s daughter…”

“Never underestimate a country girl,” laughed Charlotte.

“That sounds like the beginning of a novel,” said Justine.

“Yes, it certainly does,” said her mother, smiling across the table at her beloved husband. “And a good one at that.”


	59. A Motherless Child

**The Seventh of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

By the grace of the sea gods, _The Duchess_ found herself amid smooth seas and favorable winds, which combined with steam power allowed her to reach London only three days behind her original schedule, slated to dock that very afternoon. With a few days to unload, perform inspections, and change crews, she would be ready to take on new cargo by Monday. The bulk of Sidney’s business now revolved around the importation, bottling, and distribution of wine from Étienne’s vineyard along with several others in the Var region. These days, he most often left his overseer to manage the small number of import and export shipments. But the man had seemed less than diligent of late, and Sidney felt compelled to monitor him this time.

Sidney told Charlotte he would leave on Sunday, not ideal, but the travel ban for the Sabbath was rarely, if ever, enforced. The trip to London took fewer than eight hours now, aided by vast improvements in the road system. He promised to be home by Tuesday evening, and quieted Amelia’s frets that he would miss the entertainment on Saturday.

Amelia set off walking to Sanditon House late in the morning, planning to work with Phoebe on the play. They were nearly finished deciding on scenes and matching roles to players. Today they must write numerous letters, advising all the players of their respective parts and possible rehearsal schedules. Amelia enjoyed a feeling of satisfaction in her ability to organize such an undertaking. Usually her sensible nature did not allow pride or vanity, but she found she did feel proud. She had clear memories of her mother in the early days of the ladies’ sale, tagging along as Mama surveyed the booths or called out orders to the workmen, her notebook full of lists. When she accomplished a task, with firm deliberation she would draw a line through the item on her list, marking to the side the date and sometimes the time, a small ritual not lost on her observant daughter. _Yes_ , Amelia mused, _I learned by watching at my mother’s side_.

Unfortunately, her dear friend Phoebe did not quite possess those skills, but her heart was true and kind and generous. Certainly Amelia had skill enough for both of them. Sophie, on the other hand, was quite clever, with a quick mind and sharp tongue. Amelia tasked her with editing some of the longer scenes. The Crowes would arrive any day now, and the three of them could work together in earnest by next week.

Lost in her thoughts, bonnet ribbons waving in the sea breeze, she heard horse’s hooves behind her. She turned towards the sound. There was the new Parker cabriolet, Jay at the reins and Mr Conrad at his side.

“Whoa, whoa!” called Jay, bringing the horse to a stop. “My dear Amelia. Would you care for a ride?”

“There is room for only two.”

“We will simply make room between us. You are off to Sanditon House, are you not?”

“I am. I can walk.”

“Come on.”

She looked out over the sea, sorting her emotions. It was not the ride, but sitting next to Mr Conrad. And not that she did not wish to sit next to him… she did. Therein was the problem.

John seemed to sense her reluctance, and stepped out of the carriage. “I will ride on the back rail, Miss Parker.”

She looked at him, gauging what to do. _Well,_ she thought. _I will prove to myself this boy has no power over me._ “No, Mr Conrad, I cannot allow you to ride in discomfort. We can all fit into the seat. My brother is correct.” He held out his hand to assist her up. She barely touched his fingers as she slipped in next to Jay and bumped him over.

John seated himself next to her at an angle so she had more room, but also giving him the opportunity to face her directly.

“And where are you boys off to?” she asked, trying to make herself as small as possible in the seat.

“Ah, nowhere in particular. Papa was in a good mood and agreed to let me take his new buggy.”

“You make it sound as if his good mood is a rarity. You give Mr Conrad the wrong impression.”

“Not to worry, Miss Parker. For what it’s worth, I know your brother’s sense of humor… or lack of.”

Jay snorted.

John continued. “Your father is a fine, even tempered man in my observation.”

She ventured a look at him.

“A letter came for you. From Wilhelm,” said Jay from her other side.

She caught sight of an odd expression passing briefly across John’s face. What was that? She turned back to Jay. “All right, thank you.”

“What on earth does he write to you about? And so often. Are they _love letters_?”

“Jay! That is ungentlemanly. You know Wilhelm is simply an old friend.”

Jay continued bantering. “Do you not wish to be a countess someday?”

Amelia felt a flush of heat rise in her cheeks. “No, I do not.”

“I am teasing you.”

“Yes, I am aware, and I do not care for it.”

“But just think, you would be mistress of a castle in Bavaria, a mansion in London, whatever it is they have in Paris and Milan.”

“I do not wish to be anyone’s _mistress!”_ She realized her phrasing was not the best and imagined she must now look red as a beet. “Stop the carriage.”

“What?”

“Stop. Now.”

Jay pulled on the reins.

“Excuse me, Mr Conrad.”

John appeared both concerned and puzzled, but he stepped out and offered her his hand. She jumped down eschewing his assistance and walked briskly away without looking back. He observed his friend, who appeared embarrassed. He beheld his friend’s sister, marching down the road, her shoulders set. “Miss Parker, wait please.” He caught up shortly and matched her stride. “Surely we can repair this, can we not?”

She whipped around to face him, her cheeks now flushed with anger. “I have no idea why my brother chose to be disrespectful towards me, but I wish no part of it. I apologize for his behavior. Good day, Mr Conrad.” She turned and continued her furious pace down the path.

“Wait, wait,” he called, racing after. Stopping in front of her, he held up his hands. “Please, Miss Parker. He spoke in jest, albeit a very poor one. Boys… boys behave differently away at school. He fell into that sort of foolishness because I am here. I am sure he meant no harm.”

She glanced away, lips pursed. Her thoughts raced. Jay was far more on the mark than he realized, as Wilhelm _did_ write love letters -- flowery, passionate love letters -- and she had grown so very weary of asking him to stop. Perhaps some of her anger towards Jay was meant for Wilhelm.

“My mother,” he said in a gentle voice, “she has a saying, that the ability to forgive is not a weakness; it is a strength.”

Jay arrived just then, cloaked in a sheepish demeanor, his eyes pleading. “Amelia, I was wrong. I did to you exactly what I loathe at school, teasing and bullying. Please forgive me. I am afraid sometimes my old, impulsive self rears its ugly head. It will not happen again.”

She almost had to bite her tongue not to say, _At least you did not run into the sea after a bonnet…_ She looked from Jay to his friend and back to Jay again. “Very well.”

“Come, let me take you to Sanditon House,” Jay said, giving her his arm.

They resumed the same configuration inside the buggy and continued in silence.

After a time, Jay patted his sister’s hand. “Will you tell us this evening what our roles are to be in the play?”

“Yes, I hope to.”

“And what part do you see for yourself?” asked John.

“Sophie, Miss Crowe that is, thinks I should play Helena.”

“Ah, yes, I could see you as Helena. Who shall be Demetrius?”

“I do not know just yet.”

“May I be so bold as to suggest myself?”

“Oh. Well, I will offer your suggestion to my friends.” And for a brief moment, she allowed herself the smallest of smiles.

**The Ninth of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Charlotte Louise Heywood Parker considered herself a most fortunate woman. Why she had been so blessed she did not know, nor did she question, choosing to live in gratitude rather than disbelief. Even in his sleep, Sidney was the perfect man, breathing softly next to her, none of the snorting and labored breathing she heard tales of from other wives, including her own mother.

Given the contentious discourse that marked their early association, they had both imagined their marriage would have its fair share of arguments, but those battles never emerged. After their first few wedded months, Sidney mused one night after a particularly athletic session in bed that those early clashes stemmed from the burning desire to tear each other’s clothes off and roll in the sheets, which they could not admit to, no less _do_ at the time. Charlotte had to agree, as most all their married verbal sparring was teasingly sexual in nature, rarely if ever angry or annoyed. Yes, her Sidney was the best of men, devoted to her and the children, still impossibly handsome, dashing, witty, satisfying her in every way imaginable.

He stirred, asking sleepily, “Still awake? Are you troubled?”

“No, not at all. I was reflecting on my good fortune to be married to you.”

“ _Our_ good fortune you mean.”

She curled into him, nuzzling his neck, breathing him in. “Yes, our good fortune.”

**The Tenth of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

“I am loath to leave you,” Sidney said, tucking into his valise the miniature of Charlotte he always carried when he traveled.

“But you must. And we will miss you every moment”

He closed and fastened the bag, then turned, pulling her to him. “Roland is staying to help with the boys. I’ll be home Tuesday in time for dinner.”

She wrapped her arms about his neck. They kissed long and deep. “If you find yourself bored on the way, remember the first time we traveled to London alone.” She rubbed his nose with hers.

A sly grin appeared. “Ah, yes, finally without Georgiana.”

She kissed him again. “Come back to me.”

“You know I will. Perhaps I’ll take you for a carriage ride somewhere now that you mention it.”

The children were waiting outside with the Berline. After quick embraces and good byes, one last kiss for Charlotte, he was on his way, Aaron and Rascal chasing after as the carriage rolled up the drive.

“Aaron, take care!” called his mother after him.

_London_

London had never been a pleasant place during the summer, not within Sidney’s memory, but in the past few years it had become near unbearable. The fetid stench off the river, a nauseating soup of sewage, rotting food and occasional animal carcasses; the stinging coal smoke from factories using steam engines; the manure in the streets -- all an assault on the senses and the soul.

He had been eternally grateful the wine business made these summer trips infrequent. During the autumn when the wine arrived, the entire family would travel in for a few weeks stay. Usually the weather had cooled and the air had become pleasant. The family would shop and visit and attend performances. Then again they came at Christmas. But summer? London was to be avoided if at all possible as far as he was concerned.

Five years ago, Tom, in a grand gesture of love and family unification, had created a trust for the Bedford Place townhouse, to be used by the family in perpetuity. The upkeep and servant wages were now paid from an account funded by those family members who used the property rather than Sidney alone as had been the case for many years. With three of Tom’s four children now adults and occupying the townhouse whenever in London, it made good sense to all.

Sidney was quite sure he would be the only one there at this time, however. He’d sent a note to Mrs Randolph, the current housekeeper, to advise of his arrival. Upon walking through the front door late in the afternoon, anticipating a quiet meal and early bedtime, he was met with an uproar of sorts. Mrs Randolph and the footman scurried up to him, both talking at once before he could walk from the vestibule.

“Mr Parker, we’ve done all we can to manage the situation.”

“The constable says to take her to the nearest orphanage,” said the footman.

“Yes, Mr Parker, we have tried to find the family...”

He held up his hands. “Stop, both of you. Mrs Randolph, what on earth are you talking about?”

“The child, sir. Did you not receive my letter?”

“No, I did not. What child?”

At that moment, a maid came around the corner holding the hand of a girl, perhaps four years old. He recognized the frock she wore as one of Justine’s she had long ago outgrown. The girl’s wide green eyes were fixed upon him, her face, pale and sweet as a porcelain doll, was framed by an unruly halo of auburn curls. Clutched beneath her arm was a worn, soiled rag doll.

“This child, Mr Parker,” Mrs Randolph said with an exasperated sigh. “Imogen. Imogen Dougherty.”

Sidney found himself momentarily unable to move, his mind struggling to make sense of what unfolded before him. Finally he roused himself. “All right. Please take Imogen to the school room. I’ll be there shortly.” When the girl was out of earshot he turned to the housekeeper and footman. “I would like to freshen from my journey. In twenty minutes I will be in the drawing room where I expect to hear the full story.”

In twenty minutes time, Mr Parker listened to the tale of a recently hired maid, Miss Dougherty, who took her Sunday leave several weeks ago and never returned. Later it was found she had been struck and killed by a runaway carriage while crossing a street. Sidney was familiar with this, as the staff had alerted him when it happened. The young woman’s belongings, meager as they were, had been left behind. There had been no clues to any family or person they could contact about her death. The authorities briefly investigated and found nothing. She was buried in a pauper’s grave.

Then this Friday, a coarse, gruff woman brought little Imogen to the townhouse and demanded to speak to Miss Dougherty. The child had been left in the woman’s care, and as the mother had not shown up to pay her monthly keep, the woman brought the child back. When she found Miss Dougherty had met an untimely end, she left the child on the doorstep and walked away.

And so began the frantic search for a solution – what to do with the child? They bathed and fed her, _She was filthy and starving,_ Mrs Randolph said, and found old dresses in the attic to cloth her. The woman had left the girl with only the clothes on her back and the rag doll, claiming she would keep whatever the child possessed as payment due.

“You did what was right,” said Sidney. “I’d like to speak with the child now.”

They found the girl sitting quietly on the floor of the school room, looking at a picture book, the doll in her lap.

“Imogen,” said Mrs Randolph, “this is Mr Parker. He is the master of this house and would like to speak with you.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Thank you Mrs Randolph,” Sidney said. He sat on his haunches next to the child. “Your name is Imogen?”

“Yes.”

“What is your family name?”

“Dougherty.”

“What is your age?”

She held up four fingers.

“Ah, my youngest is four, almost five.”

“You have children?”

“I do.”

“How many?”

“Five. Three boys and two girls. My younger daughter, Justine, used to wear that little frock.”

“Will she mind I wear it?”

“Not at all. She is eight now, and far too big for it, and it suits you well, that’s what she would say.”

“Do they have a mother? Your children?”

“Yes, my wife, she is their mother.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“She is,” he smiled, “very.”

Imogen arranged her doll’s yarn hair. “My mother was beautiful, but she’s gone now.”

He sighed. “Yes, I heard. I am so sorry, Imogen. Is your father somewhere nearby?”

“I don’t know my father. He is in Ireland, where my mother is from.”

“Were you born there or here?”

“I know not. Here I think.”

“Well, you need not worry, Imogen, you will not go to an orphanage.”

She looked up at him with a blank expression. “Then what will become of me?”

“We will try to find your family, and in the meantime, you will come to stay with me and my family in Sanditon.”

“Where is that?”

“Out by the sea. A day’s journey from here. I return home Tuesday morning and you will accompany me. Do you approve?”

She scrutinized him, her expression that of a child who has already learned not to trust. He saw in her eyes the moment she accepted him. “Yes. You are very kind.”

“Good. What is your dolly’s name?”

“Bridget.”

“Mrs Randolph would like to give Bridget a bath. Would you allow her to? While you wait, you can choose any of these dolls to play with. Is there one here you would like?”

“Will it hurt Bridget?”

“No, only make her a bit damp for a while. She will dry. Would you like to choose one of the other dolls? Then we will leave Bridget with Mrs Randolph.”

She rose and walked to the shelf holding numerous dolls that had belonged to both his girls and Tom’s. “I like this one. May I have her while Bridget is bathing?”

“Of course. That one was a favorite of my daughter, Amelia. Let me think, I believe her name is Betsy. Amelia will set you straight on the name.”

“Will Amelia mind?”

“Not at all.”

“How old is she?”

“Amelia? She is thirteen. You will meet her Tuesday. Come, let us give Bridget to Mrs Randolph now.”

Hand in hand, they found Mrs Randolph, and gave specific instructions as to Bridget’s care. Sidney asked for a tray in his study instead of a full dinner. He sent little Imogen off with a maid, and went to compose a letter to Charlotte, hoping if he sent it express first thing in the morning, she would receive it before he arrived back home with a four year old orphan in tow.


	60. After Seven Comes Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love! This is progressing at a much faster pace than I thought it would. I suppose that's what happens when the muse strikes.

Still **The Tenth of July, 1836**

_London_

Sidney set down his pen and rubbed his eyes. Without a doubt, he knew Charlotte would approve of his actions. In his mind’s ear, he heard her voice telling him what to do as he spoke to the child. _Be gentle, Sidney. Imagine if she were Amelia or Justine. Think of how frightened she must be. How lonely._

He could not in good conscience leave the child at the mercy of a London orphanage. Certainly countless children met that destiny every month, but fate had placed this one directly in his care, and if he could not locate the girl’s family, he would find a suitable situation for her in Sanditon or nearby. Surely one of the charities that received their fat yearly donation from the ladies’ sale could find a good family willing to adopt little Imogen.

Mrs Randolph had given the girl a bed in the servant quarters. “I will be taking her to my home in Sanditon,” he said. “Please move her to a family room now. And will someone kindly brush her hair?”

The ink had nearly dried on the paper as he read through his letter. Not his best writing, but it would have to do. His half eaten meal remained on the tray. He was not hungry. After he folded, addressed, and sealed the letter, he sought out Mrs Randolph and requested the letter be posted express first thing in the morning. “Miss Dougherty’s possessions, are they still here?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, in the attic.”

“Could you have them brought to my study please?”

“Yes, sir. Shall I remove your tray?”

“Yes, thank you. Is the child still awake?”

“I believe she might be. Sally was tending to her.”

“In which room is she now, the nursery?”

“Yes, sir.”

He stopped off first in his room, then proceeded to the nursery, its door half open, a candle still burning. Little Imogen, clad in a nightgown, hair brushed and plaited, again sat on the floor looking at a picture book. Amelia’s doll was tucked under the covers of one of the beds.

Sidney knocked on the open door. “May I come in?”

She looked up, fearful. “Oh. Have I done wrong to be here?”

“No, no, I gave instructions you be brought here,” he said. “May I?”

“Yes, sir, Mr Parker.”

“Thank you.” He seated himself in a chair next to the bed where the doll slumbered. “You may sit on the bed to look at the book, no need to sit on the floor.”

“I don’t wish to muss it.”

“Ah, don’t worry. Come, bring your book. You are dressed for sleep after all.”

She closed the book and carried it to the bed, gingerly placing it on the counterpane. “I have not ever seen a bed as fine as this. My mother told me stories of such things, but I never saw them before.”

“Do you need help getting on?”

“No, I can do it.” She clambered up and sat on the edge.

“I have something I wish to show you,” he said, unfolding the cover from the miniature of Charlotte. “This is my wife. I have written to her about you.”

Imogen’s eyes grew wide, an expression he was becoming familiar with. “Is she a queen?”

He smiled. “Well, to me she is, but no, she is not royalty.”

“But she is dressed so finely, and so beautiful. What is her name?”

“Charlotte.”

“There was a _Princess_ Charlotte once.”

“Indeed there was.”

“I will call your wife Mrs Parker, will I not?”

“Yes, that is appropriate.”

“What are all your children’s names?”

“Well, my oldest is Jay; he is nearly sixteen. And after him comes Amelia.”

“She is thirteen.”

He nodded. “Then there is Adam, going on twelve. Justine…”

“She is eight.”

“That’s right, and last is Aaron. He will be five next month. And he has a puppy named Rascal.”

“Oh. Is it a nice dog? Not mean?”

“He is a pup, not mean at all. Have you known a mean dog?”

“Mrs Peters has a very mean dog.”

“Is she the one who brought you here?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me something about her? Do you know the address or even the street?”

“George Street.”

He nodded knowingly. Many of the city’s poor were crowded into that area. “Number?” She shook her head. “Did you have many belongings left there? Things you want returned?”

“I wish to never see her again.”

“You will not. I will retrieve your belongings, if you wish me to, but I must know where to find the place.”

“I had little. Some dresses. None as fine as the ones you have lent to me. A book. A coat and bonnet. My mother did not trust Mrs Peters, so she kept everything important in her trunk.”

“The trunk I believe is here.” Her face brightened a bit. “So, nothing you wish returned from Mrs Peters?” She shook her head. “Very well. Tomorrow I have many things to do, so I will be out much of the day. Mrs Randolph will care for you. Now, it is late and you should sleep. Did Sally show you where to find the chamber pot?”

“Yes.”

“Under the covers with you, then.” He stood and moved the book to the table, then lifted the bed linens for her to slip under, tucking them about her tiny frame. “I am just down the hall, that direction, two doors on the right.” She nodded. “Do you sleep without the light?” She nodded again. “All right.” He picked up the miniature and blew out the candle. “Good night.”

As he walked towards the door, she said in a small but clear voice, “Thank you, Mr Parker.”

“All will be well, Imogen.” He left the door ajar and headed to his study.

**The Twelfth of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Today marked the first time all the players would meet to practice the scenes in their entirety. The Molyneux carriage came to the Old Parker House shortly after noon, leaving Georgiana and little Frank, a year younger than Aaron, then taking on the four oldest Parker children and John, who would all travel to Sanditon House with George and Cora for the practice. Seven seemed too many inside the carriage, so George and Adam, always of like mind, decided to sit up top with the driver, which they found far more exciting anyway.

Inside, the two older boys occupied one seat, the three girls the other. Cora and Justine, being less than a year apart in age, were entertaining themselves with giggles and whispers. Amelia gazed out the window. John and Jay were discussing the merits and detriments of various teachers at Winchester.

“A penny for your thoughts, Miss Parker.” John’s silken voice pulled her from her reverie.

She turned her brown eyes to his amber ones. “Oh. Did I miss something?”

“She is always absorbed in that way,” said Justine. “Mama says she can hear Amelia thinking from the next room.”

John laughed. “Your mother has a wonderful way with words.”

“And if only women were allowed to have some authority, no less basic rights, we could use our thinking to make the world a far better place,” replied Amelia. “Mama would not dispute that statement, I assure you.”

“Yes, Mrs Wollstonecraft,” Jay said with a wink.

“Ah, I have read some of her writing, as my sister is a great admirer of her works,” John said.

At the mention of John’s sister, Jay’s demeanor changed. “They say we shall have a young queen when the old king passes. Perhaps that will allow us to better the rights of women. What do you think, Amelia?”

“Parliament holds the real power. But perhaps in public sentiment, it may help. We shall see.”

“You sound like my father,” said Cora. “He says exactly the same, but about race. Parliament holds the power, but public sentiment is very important.”

“Because the will of the people can be influential,” said Jay as the carriage turned into the Sanditon House drive.

###

Georgiana basked in the sultry heat of the hothouse. “Just like home,” she always remarked. Charlotte introduced her to all the newest plants and latest developments, including her silver vase bromeliad now with a large flower bud emerging from its center. When the tour ended, they strolled to the terrace and relaxed into the chairs, immersed in the kind of conversation such old friends have, filled with well known references and deep understanding.

Out on the lawn, Aaron and Frank played with Rascal, tossing sticks and chasing each other. As the afternoon progressed, they wore out the little pup. He slept peacefully in the shady grass while the two boys engaged in elaborate battles with tin soldiers.

Georgiana and Charlotte were finishing their tea when Roland came from the house. “Excuse me, Mrs Parker, but a letter has arrived express from Mr Parker. It’s marked urgent, so I thought you would want it immediately.”

“Oh dear, but he is to arrive home in a few hours.” Roland handed her the letter.

“Yes, Mrs Parker. I will be nearby if you need me for anything.”

“Thank you. Yes.” She looked at Georgiana, who nodded to the letter.

Charlotte broke the seal and began to read.

_10 July, ’36 London_

_My Dearest Charlotte,_

_Be not alarmed at receiving this, my love. I assure you I am well._

She breathed a sigh of relief. “He is well…”

“Thank goodness!”

She continued reading.

_I write to tell you briefly of an extraordinary event. No doubt you recall an unfortunate and fatal accident that befell a young woman, Miss Deirdre Dougherty, who was recently employed here at Bedford Place. When I arrived this afternoon, the staff informed me that unbeknownst to anyone, this young woman had a four year old daughter. On Friday, the child was abruptly left upon our doorstep. She has since been taken into in the care of Mrs Randolph. I will save the details for when I return. No one has yet located the child’s family. The authorities have ruled the mother’s death an accident and recommended the child, named Imogen, be sent to an orphanage, which I find I cannot allow. I know you will agree._

_And so, this may come as a bit of a shock, but I plan to bring her home with me, to keep her safe with us until her family or a suitable situation can be found. She is a sweet child, well-spoken and well behaved, and seems quite bright despite her circumstances. She was left without any possessions save what she wore and a doll. Mrs Randolph has dressed her in Justine’s clothing from that age, but she will require a better pair of shoes, as none here fit her properly. We can see to that once back in Sanditon._

_I have much to do tomorrow, but have not wavered from my schedule. I will leave Tuesday morning. I hope, my dearest, I have not placed an unfair burden on you. I am sure at this moment there is no better place for this fragile little creature than our home, so broken in heart and spirit she is. Be there anyone who can help her mend, it is you._

_I count the hours until I again behold you._

_Ever thine,_

_S_

Charlotte finished reading a looked at Georgiana. “I…”

“What? What is it?”

A small laugh bubbled up as Charlotte shook her head in disbelief. “Something quite extraordinary… Oh, here, read it for yourself. I think that is easier than me trying to explain.”

_On the Road to Sanditon_

Imogen lay curled up on the other seat, fast asleep, Amelia’s doll in her arms, the still damp rag doll beside her. She had been stunned they would ride alone in the carriage. “Where are the other people?” she had asked.

“No other passengers, this is my private carriage,” he told her.

The Berline held great interest to her then as if she saw its interior for the first time. “Are you a very rich man?”

The question made him feel oddly embarrassed. “I would say I have done well for myself and been a good provider for my family.”

She studied him, a practice of hers he surmised came from a short life filled with loss, worry, and distrust. Seemingly satisfied with his answer, she nodded.

Yesterday had been a whirlwind of activity, first dealing with his man down at the docks and seeing the shipment was properly loaded. He paid an impromptu visit to his solicitor, who was thankfully able to see him, simply to set his mind at ease about any legal pitfalls he might face for taking the child with him. At that time, he had still not found any relevant information about the child’s family, but all had changed last evening.

A preliminary search of the trunk revealed nothing more than clothing, some toiletries and trinkets, and a few books including the Book of Common Prayer, which in itself was a clue. When he mentioned to Imogen that evening that he could find nothing of importance in the trunk, she told him of the “hiding place” inside. Underneath a panel that created a false bottom in the trunk, Imogen’s mother had stowed all her personal papers including the child’s birth certificate, a trove of letters carefully bundled and tied in ribbon, a few pieces of gold jewelry, and multiple tickets from a pawnbroker. It seemed Miss Dougherty had been pawning her jewelry to survive. All but one of the tickets were within the retrieval date, meaning he could recover the jewelry for Imogen.

The letters he believed held the key. Many were from the man named on the birth certificate as Imogen’s father. Others were from Miss Dougherty's father. It felt voyeuristic to read them, so he stopped after the first, thinking he should go through them with Charlotte. How he hoped she had received his letter.

_Sanditon_

The house had been in a small uproar, readying a place for the child, locating all the girls’ old clothing that might fit her. The sense of anticipation was palpable. Nothing quite like this had ever before happened to the Parker family. The hour approached five when Aaron, who always seemed to hear the carriage before it even turned down the drive, jumped up from the settee in the Great Room.

“They are here!” he shouted, and raced outside. Sure enough, as they all filed out after him, the Berline appeared and rolled to a stop. Before the driver could, Roland, who always seemed to be in ten places at once, emerged from the group and opened the carriage door. Sidney stepped out, a shy look on his face, meeting his wife’s eyes immediately for reassurance, which she gave tenfold. He turned and lifted out a wisp of a girl dressed in Justine’s outgrown travel clothes, a few tendrils of auburn hair peeking out from the little straw bonnet. She stiffened in his arms from fear it seemed, so he held her rather than place her on her feet.

Charlotte approached, her face tender. “You know who this is, do you not, Imogen?” Sidney asked her.

“Mrs Parker.”

“Yes, welcome Imogen,” Charlotte said, then looking at Sidney, she brought her hand to his cheek. “Hello, my love.” Imogen suddenly smiled and reached out to Charlotte. Sidney realized it was the first smile he had seen from her.

The girl leaned towards Charlotte and embraced her around the neck. “I saw your portrait. I think you are a queen.”

“Ah,” Charlotte chuckled, stroking the child’s cheek, “I am a queen only to my family. Would you like to meet them?” She motioned to Aaron, who stood patiently at her side while Rascal wagged next to him.

“This is Aaron,” said Sidney.

“He will be five next month,” Imogen answered.

Aaron giggled. “I will be! This is Rascal. You can give him a pat.”

“Do you wish to?” Sidney asked her. She nodded with another little smile. “Hold him still, Aaron.” Sidney set her on her feet. Cautiously, she reached out and touched the puppy’s head, which he swiveled to lick her hand. A tiny giggle escaped her.

“He is so soft,” she nearly whispered.

And so they went from one to the other. “This is Jay…”

“He is nearly sixteen.”

“Yes, welcome to our home, Imogen.”

“And who do you think this is?”

“You are Justine! Eight years old. Do you mind I wear your clothing?”

“No, not at all. Welcome, Imogen!”

“You are Adam, nearly twelve.”

He laughed gleefully. “That I am! Welcome!”

“And this is...”

“Amelia! You are thirteen. I have borrowed your doll while mine bathed.”

“Oh, quite all right. I do not think dolls can ever get too much love, do you?”

Imogen shook her head and looked up at the last person, a tall handsome boy.

“And this is John,” Amelia said. “He is a friend of ours who is visiting.”

“Hello Miss Imogen, I am honored to be present at the time of your arrival to this fine household.” He bowed deeply.

Imogen smiled again. “And what age are you?”

“I am sixteen, seventeen in December.”

“Very fine,” she said. “I am four, just this April.”

“Well, shall we take you inside?” asked Amelia offering her hand. Imogen reached for both her hand and John’s. Amelia chanced a look at him, and he smiled back. It was not lost on him she had introduced him as a friend, not Jay’s friend.

As the children funneled through the old carved wooden door, Charlotte turned to her husband, encircling his waist and pressing him to her. “She is a dear, sweet child.”

He stroked her hair. “You are not upset?”

“Did you think I would be?”

“No, but, I suppose I was not entirely sure of the wisdom of my decision, without you to consult.”

“Sidney Parker, just when I think I cannot possibly love you more, you do something that causes me to grow an entire new heart to hold all the love I have.”

“I know precisely what you mean.” He smiled, then leaned down to kiss her soft as velvet. “I have so much to tell you.”

“And I cannot wait to hear it.”


	61. There's Always More to the Story

**The Fourteenth of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

After reading and discussing the papers found in Deirdre Dougherty’s trunk, Sidney and Charlotte decided to contact Imogen’s father first, despite their opinion of his previous actions, as he was her next of kin. The woman’s tragic story became painfully clear as they dove deeper into the pages. She was a gentleman’s daughter from Londonderry, and member of the Church of England, who had somehow fallen in love with a man named Seamus Boyle, a Catholic and a shoemaker’s son, two insurmountable hurdles as far as the old man Dougherty was concerned. After nineteen year old Deirdre told Seamus she carried his child, he fled, fearing reprisal from her father. At that point, the account became muddled, but what was not was the old man’s response. He categorically disowned his only child.

Slowly the Parkers pieced the puzzle together, filling in the gaps with best guesses and the bit of information they gleaned from Imogen herself. Deirdre ran away to London with two trunks filled with anything of value in her father’s house she could get her hands on quickly – jewelry, silver candlesticks, yards of fine Irish lace, coins. She fully expected Seamus Boyle to join her and start a life together with their child, but he never arrived, only sending her a bit of money when he could, the promises and letters less frequent as the months passed. Then in his last letter sent shortly after Imogen’s birth, he wrote he was marrying another and would be unable to send any more funds. Charlotte surmised from that point onward for the next two years, Deirdre had called herself “Mrs Dougherty” and claimed to be a widow.

Deirdre lived an unassuming life in humble quarters funded largely through selling or pawning her family possessions. By the time Imogen was two, the money was near gone. Deirdre placed her daughter in the care of a respectable party and took work as a housemaid, returning to her “Miss” status and making no mention of a child. After two years, she lost the position for reasons undetermined, and lack of funds forced to her place Imogen in Mrs Peters’ care. She had sought another placement as a maid for several months before Mrs Randolph hired her at Bedford Place. The housekeeper told Sidney she believed the woman had not been born to working class people. “She had airs about her, and did not tackle chores the way a woman born to service would.”

Imogen said her mother had visited every Sunday, and indeed, the accident happened just off George Street, so they assumed she had been on her way to Mrs Peters’ place. That her mother was a gentleman’s daughter explained Imogen’s demeanor, her speech and manners. Deirdre Dougherty may have been living humbly, but she gave her daughter a different kind of wealth, the ability to conduct herself suitably in polite society.

Sidney and Charlotte had lain awake half the night mulling over the story and the facts, agreeing it would be presumptuous to make plans for the child until they heard from the father. And the grandfather if that became necessary. They freely admitted to each other it seemed an act of providence had brought Imogen to them. What if _The Duchess_ had not been delayed, and he had arrived at a different time, before or after. Or if he had been home to receive Mrs Randolph’s letter and had simply agreed with the constable’s recommendation? As he explained to Charlotte with apologies to the Bard, the moment he set eyes on the child, a greater power than he could contradict seemed to be at play.

**The Fifteenth of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Justine, with perfect posture and hand position, played the latest Chopin piece she was tasked to master. But it was not a task. She relished playing the piano, especially Chopin. Recently she had taken to composing a few Chopin inspired pieces of her own, though she had yet to divulge the fact to anyone, not even Aunt Maggie.

“What is that you play?” someone would ask in passing.

“Oh, just a little piece I found in a practice book,” she would reply.

These past three days at the piano had been decidedly different, however, as she now had a devoted audience of one. Mama had instructed they should simply _let Imogen be_ her first few days. Let her explore at her own pace and become accustomed to the family in a natural way. The little child had lingered in the background her first full day at the Old Parker House, listening to Justine play. Slowly she made her way to the piano until she stood next to it, fascinated by Justine’s fingers moving across the keys. On her second day, she perched on the edge of bench with Justine, shifting her gaze between Justine’s fingers and the sheet music, as if she understood the correlation. Today, her third day, she shared the bench, studied the music, and hummed softly. Typically, Justine would find such vocalizing bothersome while she practiced, but Imogen’s pitch was exact and she knew the melody perfectly in the sections she hummed.

It was oddly satisfying to have this little girl pay such rapt attention to her. Justine had always been the one idolizing her older sister, tagging along, begging for attention, emulating Amelia’s every move. Now this diminutive red headed girl who watched admiringly with those big green eyes gave Justine a sense of maturity and responsibility, a desire to set a good example for the child.

Justine often considered herself the invisible one of the five. The other four seemed to elicit far more attention -- Jay for being the eldest, Amelia for being brilliant, Adam for being… Adam, and Aaron for being the baby. It seemed her only noticeable achievement was being born in France the same day Papa nearly died rescuing Jay. She could not even get a second look from John Conrad. He had eyes for Amelia only. Certainly, she had forgiven Amelia that. It was silly of her to think a boy his age would pay attention to an eight year old girl. As Papa was fond of saying, _If it’s meant to be, it will be._ Someday, she hoped, it would be her fate to have a man who looked at her the way Papa looked at Mama.

Then again, at times she thought the lack attention she received from her family was her own fault, her own doing because she kept her thoughts to herself. She often believed Susan was the only one who appreciated her. Susan, too, often kept her thoughts to herself, and she was an exceptional pianist who rarely displayed her talent outside of her close knit circle of true friends. If Justine were to show anyone her fledgling compositions, it would be Susan. Perhaps when they had their usual August visit at Covington House, Justine would do just that. But then again, Aunt Diana always doted on Justine when she came, and Isabelle was only a few months older and a pleasure to be with. But the French part of the family came back to England infrequently…

She felt a light tapping on her arm. Imogen looked up at her quizzically. “Is something wrong? Should I leave you?” the girl asked.

Justine realized she had ceased playing. “Oh, no, nothing is wrong. My thoughts strayed, that is all…”

In the distance, she could hear a quiet conversation between Mama and Aunt Maggie, who had returned from Willingden yesterday. The elder Heywoods were not doing so well, it seemed. Next month when the Parkers went to Covington House, Maggie would go to Willingden to prepare for her September wedding. Aunt Elizabeth would then come to Sanditon in her place. She was the last of all Mama’s siblings, a full twenty years younger. Justine imagined Elizabeth was hoping the same fate might befall her as did Maggie, finding a handsome husband at one of the balls. But it would be nine years at least before Justine was allowed to attend such a party, so she banished the thoughts from her mind and resumed her focus on the music, much to Imogen’s pleasure.

###

Charlotte slipped into Sidney’s study and closed the door behind her. “Have you finished?” she asked.

“At this very moment,” he said. “Come give your approval.”

She stood behind his chair, her arms about his shoulders as she read the letter to Seamus Boyle. “How long do we wait before writing the grandfather?”

“This last address for Boyle in Letterkenny is over four years old. We will have to give it time to be forwarded, if at all. I think if we do not hear back by September, we approach Dougherty.”

“Sounds reasonable,” she said, nuzzling into his cheek. “At least she is here with us, eating more, that apprehensive expression finally gone.”

“She’s taken a liking to Justine.”

“Good for both, I think. I worry about Justine, always in Amelia’s shadow. Having a younger girl in the house might give her confidence.” 

“Hmm. I’m afraid I am not as perceptive with the girls as I am with the boys.”

“Hardly. How many fathers remember the name of their daughter’s old doll?”

“It wasn’t difficult. That doll went all the way to France and back. How many times did I hear the name?”

“You do very well by your daughters, even if you claim otherwise.”

He took her hand and pulled her around, scooting out the chair to make room for her on his lap. “Ahhh, but I am my very best with their mother,” he grinned, giving her a tug towards him and a sound patting on her rear.

Instead of sitting in his lap, she lifted her skirts and straddled him, bringing an expression of delight to his face. “Are you looking to prove that statement?” she asked, eyebrows lifted.

He slid his hands beneath her skirt and grasped her thighs. “Is the door locked?”

She leaned into him, hands against his chest, caressing his lips with hers. “What are you suggesting, Mr Parker…”

“It wouldn’t be the first time in the study,” he said between kisses.

“It wouldn’t be the first time in this chair,” she said, moving her caresses down his jaw to his neck. He closed his eyes and tilted his head.

“Assuming I’ll choose the chair?” He moved his hand deeper between her thighs and found what he was seeking, rewarded with one of his favorite sounds, her breathy little gasp. “Perhaps I’ll simply turn you over the desk…”

She sighed on her way back to his lips. “…wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Well then…” He grazed her lower lip with his teeth.

“Well then…” She slowly nipped him back.

“Will you lock the door or shall I?”

**The Sixteenth of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

The time for the gathering to begin at Sanditon House had been set for 1 o’clock. The four older Parker children and John left early in the old chariot, the carriage Sidney purchased just before he and Charlotte married. Jay wished to drive, but his father disapproved, sending Roland for the task.

“I thought he was your father’s valet,” said John. “He seems to do nearly everything. Quite a clever fellow.”

Jay chuckled. “He does. Been with the family for ten years, I think, barely nineteen when he started. My father does not care to be fussed over, so his valet is more of a right-hand man. He does attend to all three of our wardrobes,” he nodded towards Adam, “cuts hair, those sort of valet duties, but my father depends on him for so much more.”

“We always thought he should marry Mama’s maid, Haskell, because Uncle Otis’s valet married Aunt Georgiana’s maid,” said Amelia. “We were sorely taken to task by Mama for trying to match make.”

“We _were_ terrible,” agreed Jay, “and crestfallen when she married the haberdasher’s son.”

“Mama said she made a good choice marrying him,” Justine said. “We still see her sometimes when we stop in for ribbons and the like. She seems very happy. And she is Mrs Hampton, now, not Haskell.”

“Indeed she did. No unkind thoughts intended,” said Jay, “after all, Mama told us the little one’s father was a shoemaker’s son, and they’ve written to him.”

“Her mother was a gentlewoman,” said Justine.

“A fallen one,” said Adam dryly.

“Adam!” the two girls cried at once.

“Ungentlemanly,” scolded Amelia.

“Mama never said anything of the kind,” added Justine.

“She did not have to,” countered Adam. “It wasn’t difficult to determine.” He tapped the side of his head with his index finger.

“Still, you do not say such things in public,” Amelia said. “And you should not speak ill of the dead.”

“I’m not in _public,_ dear Amelia. I am sitting in a carriage with my family and a trusted family friend,” snorted Adam. “Excuse me, ladies, if I distressed your _fine_ sensibilities with a bit of truth! Yes, it is tragic the woman died and left the child an orphan. May the painful tale be a lesson to all of us.”

Now John spoke up. “If I may, allow me to state I find your father’s actions most commendable, heroic even. And Imogen is a delightful little girl, wholly deserving of the second chance your family is affording her.”

“Thank you, Mr Conrad, for the kind words about our father. And I find Imogen has quickly endeared herself to me as well,” Justine said. “She is quite musically inclined. I believe she will easily learn to play.”

“All right. We are nearly there,” said Jay. “Not a word of this to anyone, do you hear? It is up to Papa and Mama to tell the others about her parents. Or not.”

“Agreed,” they all replied.

###

Logistics required extra time before the players could proceed with the entertainment. The ladies and small children retired to the summer pavilion for light refreshments while the men retreated to the billiards room.

Crowe inspected his cue. “I admit she’s endearing, but still, Parker, an orphan? What possessed you?”

“Not everyone is void of altruism, Crowe, simply because you are,” Babington remarked.

“Should I take in every orphan in London to garner your praise, Lord Babington?” Crowe parried.

“No, Babs, it is a fair question,” Sidney said, taking his shot and scoring. “Perhaps, Crowe, had the girl simply been a statistic in the paper, or my housekeeper had taken her to an institution before I knew, yes, perhaps then I may not have been so moved. But there she stood, in my house, dressed in my daughter’s clothing, completely at my mercy.”

“So had she been an ugly child dressed in tatters you would not have been moved?” Crowe prodded.

“I do not think that is what he meant,” said Otis, aiming his shot.

“I am not a judge or magistrate, no less a god,” said Sidney, “but sheer chance bestowed on me the power to condemn that child to a life of misery, even violence and early death. I found I could not. It took very little for us to take her in, and look what we have gained already.”

Otis put his hand on Sidney’s shoulder. “One single act of kindness can alter one’s entire life and countless lives around him in the process. I know, because you did so for me, Sidney. I commend you for what you and Charlotte have done for the girl.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Sidney replied. “It is great praise from a man who has done so much for so many.”

“All right, all right. I stand corrected,” Crowe said with his sardonic grin.

They resumed playing.

“So the young man, Conrad, Georgiana says his mother is from India?” asked Otis.

“Yes, his father was in the great survey of the subcontinent when he met and married her. Brought her back before their children were born.”

“Handsome boy and quite bright I’m told,” said Babington. “Phoebe is most impressed with him.”

“He’s been a delight. I must say I’m a bit sorry to see him leave Monday, especially with how he keeps Jay occupied.”

“What a strapping young man he’s grown to be, Parker,” Crowe said in an uncharacteristic compliment. “Sixteen soon, eh? What comes after Winchester?”

“University I hope. John Conrad has his sights set on Oxford year after next. I would be pleased if Jay decided to follow.”

“Will he take over the business?” asked Babington.

“Entirely up to him.”

The footman arrived with word that they were to join the others in the sitting room.

“Ah, time for us to view the talents of our progeny,” said Babington.

“They have put their hearts and souls into this, so please be kind,” Sidney said, largely directed to Crowe.

“My children are up there, as well, Parker, do you think I would laugh at them?”

“Perhaps not laugh, but smirk,” Sidney replied with his own smirk.

“All right, all right. Someone hand me a drink before it starts and I will be the soul of discretion.”

“How does Clara tolerate you?” Babington jested as they headed for the sitting room.

“Never mind it, Babbers. I have my ways. I keep her happy.”

Sidney clapped his hand on Crowe’s shoulder. “And that, my old friend, is all that matters.”


	62. And Now a Word from Our Sponsor

November 20, 2020

From the author:

I've gone ahead and removed the contents of this chapter. It was not related to the story, but a personal statement that is not really relevant anymore. I think it's confusing and out of context now for those who read after the fact. Deleting the entire chapter would mess up the number sequence, so it's just a placeholder now. The story continues with the next chapter.

Many heartfelt thanks to all of you who took the time and care to respond when I first posted it. ❤

Thanks,

Silverfox54


	63. All The Men and Women Are Merely Players

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We catch up with old friends.
> 
> On a personal note, thank you for following me down my rabbit hole. I appreciate the votes of confidence, and do feel the vast majority of my readers are still with me on this journey, fully engaged in our travels.

Still **The Sixteenth of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Thomas Winslow Pratt, The 3rd Viscount Babington, strolled through the corridors of Sanditon House, ushering his friends to the drawing room. And indeed he did consider the fourth, Otis Molyneux, a good friend, finding the man’s earnest morality the perfect foil for the sarcastic hedonism of Francis Crowe. Babington, Parker and Crowe were all second sons when they first met as boys at Winchester College. The second son’s lament was the first bond between them. But his elder brother, Reginald, heir to the title and fortune, died valiantly at the battle of Waterloo, leaving his father a broken man and himself the heir. Both his parents passed within the year, his younger sister Augusta left in his care. Even though he had written of the news to his old friend Parker in Antigua, Sidney still had difficulty remembering to call him Babington, not Pratt, the first few weeks after he returned to England. It was Crowe who settled on the moniker Babbers, later shortened further to Babs, which helped the titled name stick.

No one had yet mentioned the absence of the Tom Parkers from today’s gathering, but Babington felt relieved they had declined. He was fond of Mary and the boys, Alicia and her husband Frederick, another fine member of the Heywood family. But Tom, although much improved from his earlier days, still suffered from moodiness and wandering attention. Forbidden to imbibe, as it greatly increased his symptoms, he often appeared agitated in social situations where spirits and wines were to be had, as Tom relished a good drink or two or three back in the day. _Better they did not attend,_ Babington thought.

The ladies were returning from their respite outdoors, his beloved Esther holding the hand of their fifth child, five year old Gertrude. Little Reginald was no doubt with his nurse. Crowe’s youngest, Benjamin, followed Clara; as did Frank after Georgiana. Bringing up the rear was Charlotte with Aaron and the little orphaned child, Imogen, whose eyes had yet to appear anything smaller than teacup saucers since she’d entered the manor.

Not that Babington could blame the little girl. Sanditon House was impressive, but no longer in an ostentatious way. The first change they had made when the old Lady Denham passed was to this very drawing room. Esther had wished to replace the floor, but Babington declined, as it was solid black marble and destroying it seemed a waste. Instead they covered it with fine Axminster carpets, the calming patterns in ivory and pastels hiding the dreadful inlay of a coiled red serpent. This not only warmed the room considerably, it created the means to group more comfortable, modern furniture into clusters suitable for conversation. And it was not at all unusual to find one or two of his children curled up in a large upholstered chair, reading a book or playing games in what was once a cavernous, gaudy, frighteningly gloomy room. The gilded black marble pillars and walls remained, but these too were softened by the hanging of light colored tapestries over several of the dramatic panels painted with mythological scenes. Finally, he had removed the massive golden statue of Poseidon in his chariot drawn by hippocamps, leaving the entire raised alcove open for both musicians and dancing, and today, for the children’s entertainment.

Lord Babington was not the only person remembering the old Poseidon statue. As Charlotte entered the room, she thought of her first glimpse of the life sized god of the sea, all in gold, his trident held over his head by brawny arms, his bare torso lean and rippled with muscles. Only days later, Sidney Parker rising from the sea stark naked immediately brought the image of Poseidon, but Sidney was not a golden statue, he was real flesh and blood… far more enthralling. How that image of him had stirred her, both awake and in her dreams. All the years later, knowing every bit of him by heart, the sight of Sidney unclothed still thrilled her, so too the resonance of his voice, the caress of his fingertips, the appealing fragrance of sandalwood and citrus shaving soap mingling with his own ineffable scent when she nuzzled his neck. She sighed.

“Are you sad?” asked Imogen at her side.

She looked down and stroked the child’s hair. “No, reflective, not sad. In fact, I was thinking of something quite pleasant.”

“Oh,” was the reply.

 _How overwhelmed she must feel,_ thought Charlotte.

The children had rearranged the furniture, so all the seats had full view of the alcove stage. With six copies of the play, one from each household and two from the lending library, they were able to design a set of sorts – the palace, Quince’s house, the woods – each with a copy or two of the play on a table or stand. The marble pillars were wrapped with garlands and branches to signify the forest. Two chairs served as the thrones of Theseus and Hippolyta. The child reading narration would stand to the side of the alcove stairs near the piano, a music stand holding Amelia’s carefully penned pages.

The thirteen spectators mingled and found their seats, Sidney joined Charlotte on a settee, Imogen between them. Aaron quickly settled on the floor at his father’s knee, rewarded with a hair tousling. Sidney glanced down at Imogen and contemplated Crowe’s words: _So had she been an ugly child dressed in tatters you would not have been moved?_ If he were completely honest with himself, he had to admit he was not certain. The street urchins who populated the docks, living in the foul miasma that hung over the river, prowling endlessly for an unguarded pocket to pick. Would he have saved one of them? It was strangely akin to the emotions he lived with in Antigua, the inhumanity that first shocked him to the core, then numbed him, and finally hardened into the shell he hid behind when he returned. How can one man possibly make a difference in a world so full of ugliness and cruelty? He felt Charlotte’s gaze on him, turned and met her eyes that asked, _Is all well?_ He nodded and smiled reassuringly. And indeed, it was. He knew he could not save every child, but he did save one. As Otis pointed out, one act of kindness can change the lives of many.

On another settee, Clara eyed the drink in her husband’s hand and wondered how many had proceeded it during the playing of billiards. Never would she succeed in preventing him from indulging in his favorite pastime, but she did attempt to moderate it. Luckily, spirits rendered him drowsy and affable, not caustic and cruel as they had her father, but still, she worried over the price his mind and body paid for his habit. In the beginning, she was fond of the man, but not in love. Considering the cruelties her younger self had endured, she believed herself incapable of love, her marriage an act of survival. But Francis Crowe’s charms found their way into her hardened heart. They were far more alike than she had ever imagined, and where one was weak, the other was strong. He was effusive; she was guarded. She possessed discipline over her impulses; he possessed a modicum when sober, none when inebriated. Together they made a whole. And when Sophie was born, quite to Clara’s surprise a powerful mother’s love engulfed her, breaking down the last barrier, allowing her to surrender in total to the emotions that had eluded her for so long. Yes, she did love her husband.

He leaned over and whispered to her, “I’m told to be on my best behavior or I will answer to Parker. What do you think, Mrs Crowe?”

She turned to him, coquettishly fluttering the lids of her brilliant blue eyes. “I think you should be far more concerned about answering to your wife, Mr Crowe.”

“Point taken, my darling.” He toasted her with his glass. “I am in complete control.”

She patted his knee. “I trust that glass is your last for a while.”

And he knew it was. He doted on his wife. He never expected to love any woman. Even when he witnessed the great Sidney Parker succumb to the emotion, he was certain it would not capture him. But he found Clara’s exquisite face of porcelain beauty framed in golden curls, her plump red lips, melodious voice, her curvaceous body all a mighty temptation. Coupled with her well-hidden acerbic wit that rivaled his own and formidable knowledge of the bedroom arts, he found he could not resist her. Thus he willingly fell into enemy hands as his two compatriots had before him, content to be a prisoner in the war of love for the remainder of his days.

Georgiana spied the top of the little orphan’s head as the girl nestled quietly between the Sidney and Charlotte. A thought had occurred to her just that day, perhaps the solution to the dilemma between her and Otis. He wanted more children. She simply could not bear the thought. With each child, the oppressive black moods, the endless lethargy, the loss of will to live became worse and worse. _Puerperal_ _insanity_ the doctors called it. After Frank’s birth, a desperate Otis had gone to Portsmouth to bring back Mrs Offiah, but even Georgiana’s beloved Crockett could not rid her former mistress of her ills. Lengthy periods of complete rest were the only cure. She and Otis had two sons and one daughter. Perhaps they could foster children now, and that would satisfy Otis’s desire for more pairs of little feet pattering about. Surely there was no shortage of black children needing homes, and should they not extend their life’s work to saving children as well?

“What are your thoughts on the child?” she whispered to Otis, gesturing with her head towards the Parkers.

“We were speaking of it over billiards. Noble of them, I believe. I have the impression if they fail to locate the family, she will stay with them.”

“Do you? Charlotte could not speak freely as the child was with her.”

“Nor did Sidney, but they seem rather attached already.”

“Yes, I agree.” She assessed her husband’s face, his strong jaw and high cheekbones, large expressive eyes, one carrying a battle scar above, and pondered if her plan might work.

Babington lifted Gertrude into an embrace for a moment of cuddling before freeing her to her own devices. Esther shifted over on the settee for him to join her.

“Reggie is with Nurse?” he asked.

She nodded. “Did you gentlemen enjoy yourselves?”

“Indeed we did.” He lowered his voice. “Discussion of the merits of Sidney’s recent actions. Crowe his usual derisive self; Molyneux a moral compass.”

“She is a beautiful child. So well behaved.”

“Her beauty is not unlike yours, my love.”

“Perhaps that explains why she gazes at me so. Do you suppose I resemble her mother?”

“In appearance only. I could not imagine you would ever have put yourself into such a situation as she did.”

“But the daughter would not know her mother’s sins. It is staggering to think of what the child has endured in her short life.”

Babington tilted his balding head, nodding in acknowledgement. When first his hair began to recede, he attempted to hide the growing spot with longer hair atop. When his hairline reached midway to his crown, he enlarged his already ample muttonchops, as if the hair above had merely traveled to the sides. When Esther insisted he was handsome regardless of his hairline, he accepted his fate. She teased him on occasion, saying she needed no looking glass, for his wide, gleaming forehead was enough, but in truth, she found it distinguished, befitting of a man of his station. She never regretted the sudden decision she made that night in the Sanditon assembly rooms after Edward’s fateful outburst. Marrying Babington was the soundest choice she had ever made.

Justine emerged and seated herself before the piano, bringing the muted murmurings in the room to a close. When all was still, she played a piano interpretation of the opening from Purcell’s _Fanfare_ as Jay strode to the center front of the alcove stage. When the music finished, he began:

“Welcome all. I am John Joseph Parker, mercifully shortened almost immediately after my birth to the reasonable moniker, Jay.” He bowed and a smattering of applause spread across the audience initiated by Crowe and enthusiastically furthered by Aaron. Jay held up his hands for silence. “I have been tasked to inform you of the roles we will play in our reading of selected scenes from William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, with a narration penned by my own dear sister, Miss Amelia Parker.” He held up the paper he carried and began to read in a strong clear voice, pointing out numerous multiple roles such as: “Miss Phoebe Pratt will grace us with two roles, Hippolyta and Titania.” And “My good friend from Winchester, Mr John Conrad, will entertain you with the role of Demetrius and as a narrator.” When he completed his list, he bowed again, then gestured to the piano and Justine who stood and curtsied. Then amid polite applause, the stage became a flurry of activity as the players all rushed to their places.

Sidney leaned over and whispered to Charlotte, “Are you certain that boy is our son?”

She dropped her head and chuckled, then leaned over to his ear. “Yes Mr Parker, I can assure you he is.”

He laughed and shook his head, “Extraordinary.”

The four sets of parents sat riveted, bursting with pride as their offspring unfolded the play, moving props and texts about with clockwork precision, speaking some passages from memory, draping a scarf or donning a paper crown to signify the role they played. George and Marcus fairly brought the room to tears in laughter at their Nick Bottom and Peter Quince.

When it came time for Adam, in true form as Puck, to turn George’s head into that of an ass, Phoebe had created a headpiece for him to wear, with large ears and a stubbly mane, that as Titania she feigned stroking, saying:

“Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.”

George’s reply in his ass’s ears was as dry as the desert:

“Truly, a peck of provender: I could munch your good dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.”

As Demetrius, John read his lines next to Amelia as Helena:

“O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?”

Sidney, as he had done a dozen times by now, leaned to whisper in his wife's ear. This time he said, “You see? Smitten I tell you. That boy is smitten.”

They laughed until their sides ached at the Pyramus and Thisbe play performed by the craftsmen. Swiftly the players disappeared leaving only Adam, who, without a text, seated himself on the floor before the audience, acting, not reading, Puck’s final soliloquy:

“If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended…”

And then it was over. The players came and took their bows, as the little ones in the audience rushed up to jump and dance before them. Imogen remained in her seat, scarcely moving, watching the chaos before her, a cacophony around her. Charlotte wrapped an arm about her and asked, “Did you enjoy it?”

Imogen looked up with her wide eyed expression. “I have not seen such a thing before.”

“Nor have we,” said Charlotte, laughing and pulling her close.

Parents stood and stretched their legs and complimented each other on their talented offspring who now tidied up their stage. Eventually the crowd wandered at leisure back out to the summer pavilion, where a hearty repast had been set. Six and twenty fortunate people ate and drank and joked. A group of children played battledore, a group of boys boxed. The little ones played tag and hide & seek. Even Imogen, under Justine’s wing, joined the fun.

The afternoon waned into early evening. All said their thanks and goodbyes. After a few hours of bustling activity around the Old Parker House, the exhausted children retired, as did their parents, cocooned in the old carved wooden bed, discussing the day.

“But so unique to see them from a spectator’s view. We’ve known all since they were born. I have seen more of Esther’s children than I have Alison’s,” said Charlotte, she and Sidney side by side on their backs.

“We’ve become quite the extended clan, our four families. But we _will_ see the Copelands soon, at the wedding.”

“Yes, I know. Still, I wish we did not live so far from each other.” She rolled over and folded her hands over his chest, propping her chin atop them. “Jay is nearly a man. How impressive he was.”

He chuckled, reaching up to stroke her hair. “I kept seeing him in my mind’s eye as the little bundle in your arms when they finally let me in the room…”

“The look on your face…”

“The look on _yours_ …”

“He _was_ our first…”

“He claims to be our experiment, that we tested _various conditions_ on him in order to raise the rest properly.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Nah, I overheard him joking with John and Anthony today.”

“I suppose it’s partly true.”

“Partly, not entirely.”

“Is that not what partly means?” she asked, rolling to her side and poking him in the ribs.

“It’s a manner of speaking, my love. Don’t puff up.”

“Puff up?”

“Yes, puff up.”

“And when do I _puff up_ , pray tell?

“The last time? I suppose over the puppy.”

“The puppy? Did we argue?”

He snorted. “No, I did not argue. You did.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

He turned on his side and propped his head on his hand. “As I recall you huffed and puffed until you wore yourself out and had no more excuses to deny the boy his puppy. I said almost nothing.”

“That is not true.”

“It is.”

“And what did I _huff and puff_ about?”

In his best imitation of her, he proceeded. “I grew up on a farm. Animals stayed out of the house for good reason, in their own place, be it pens, or stables, or dog houses. Once that puppy comes inside we’ll have blood sucking insects and piddle or worse on the floor.”

“I didn’t say it that way.”

“You did.”

“Did I?”

“I said you did, did I not?”

She rolled over and punched her pillow a bit. “Well, no matter. We compromised. He has his puppy, only not in the house.”

“You came to that conclusion by arguing with yourself. I said not a word.”

She bolted up, took hold of her pillow with both hands and smacked him with it.

“Ow!” he pushed the pillow back at her. “Cannot stand when I’m right, eh?”

“Not when you are smug about it.” She placed the pillow behind her, settling down on her back again. “And I certainly did not injure you with a pillow.”

“You injured my _pride_. Here I am, a man in my own house, in my own bed, being struck with a pillow by my own wife.”

“Don’t puff up.”

“I have never heard you complain about me _puffing up.”_ He shifted to his back and stretched out.

She raised her hand over her head, examining her fingernails. “Well, I suppose there is always a first time.”

“Shall I use your saying, do you wish to tread on thin ice, Mrs Parker?”

“Perhaps.”

_“Perhaps?”_

“Will you dive under and bring me out if the ice fails?”

“Only if you apologize.”

“For what?”

“For striking me with a pillow.”

“So you mean to say, if I were to be plunged into icy waters, you would wait for me to apologize before coming to my rescue?”

“If the icy waters were metaphorical, as they are now, yes. If they were real… I cannot imagine you would think I would not rescue you.”

She moved with the grace of a cat twining about a leg, coming to rest on top of him, sliding her fingers into his hair. “Forgive me, my darling husband, for injuring your pride with my pillow.”

“I am doubting the sincerity of your apology.”

“Oh, no,” she kissed his chin, “however shall I convince you?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He rested his hands on the small of her back, moving lightly in circles with his fingertips.

She shifted her hips against him. “Is that puffing up I detect?”

“Oh, I doubt it.”

She moved onto her knees and pressed further. “No, I am certain my apology has positively revivified you.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He rolled them over so he was on top.

“Has my sincerity been confirmed then?” She ran the backs of her fingers down his cheek. He turned into them, lightly caressing with his lips.

“You have forgotten to say that which is most essential.”

“Ahh, yes. Forgive me again.” She traced the outline of his lips with her thumb. “I love you.”

“How much?”

“With every fiber of my being.”

“As I do you.”

“Forgiven?” she asked as he left a path of kisses down to the cleft between her breasts.

“Forgiven.”


	64. The Second Son's Lament

**The Seventeenth of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

“How now, Adam, so quiet this morning.”

Adam glanced up from his breakfast plate, until then the sole recipient of his scowl. He moderated his expression when replying to his father. “There seems conversation enough at this table without my addition…sir.”

His father raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, surprised at the surly response from his usually good natured boy. “Come, you must have something to say, judging by how pensive you appear. I have never known you to lack thoughts.”

Adam’s head was brimming with thoughts, but he was not about to voice them. He had a raging desire to shut down the nattering of his sisters, still lamenting Maggie’s absence at the play yesterday alternating with bragging to her of its success. They knew Robert was in from London and their aunt would be with him, but it did not stop their girlish chatter. And how he envied Jay, joking away with his friend, Conrad, about an absent-minded English master at Winchester. Adam felt consumed with frustration at forever being pegged the mischievous one, when all he wanted was to relieve the boredom of his safe and steady life. And now they would head off to Sunday services, where he would be forced to listen to further nattering by the old man Hankins, whose sermons it seemed had become more and more nonsensical over the years. 

The chatter around the table quickly diminished with Mr Parker’s question, awaiting Adam’s answer. “Nothing I wish to share, Papa. When we return from services, I would like to go riding. May I take Jack this time?”

His father’s eyes darted to his mother’s in one of their wordless exchanges the children were all too familiar with. “We have had this conversation before, my boy. You are not ready yet for Jack, nor is he ready for you. Titan is the horse you will ride for now.”

“I am an excellent horseman, Papa, Uncle Charles says so.”

“Yes, and I agree with him, you are. But Jack is a large and heavy stallion who is still temperamental at times. Perhaps in a year, even less…”

“You let me ride Apollo when I was barely seven, and he is just as large a stallion. You allowed Jay to ride Jack.”

Jay began to speak, but was silenced by one look from his father, who then set his eyes back on his second son. “Adam, must I repeat myself? Apollo is the gentlest of steeds, never willful. He would have broken his own leg before allowing injury to you. Jack is no such creature, although he will be in time, I am sure of it. He’s young and opinionated, and needs guidance you have not yet the strength to give him. Jay has four years and considerable size on you. That is not a criticism, Adam, it is a fact. As before, I forbid you to ride Jack until he is consistent in nature or you have grown, whichever comes first. Have I made myself clear?”

Adam’s reply was as expressionless as his face. “Yes, _Father_ , you have.”

“Perhaps you two could go riding together,” suggested his mother.

“True, we haven’t been in some time. What do you think, Adam, shall we go out together?”

“I believe I would not be good company, Papa. I seek a solitary ride. May I be excused?” He noticed but ignored his father’s puzzled, slightly injured countenance.

“All right.”

Adam placed his napkin to the side of his plate, rose, and left the silent table.

###

Reverend Hankins droned on with what he surely thought to be an ingenious analogy of love to the sun, which became a play on _son_ , as in the divine. One could always tell when Hankins thought himself clever by his lifted chin and chest. Adam could fairly feel Amelia’s eyes roll next to him and a glance down the pew revealed his father with his head dropped, stifling a yawn. As a younger boy, Adam would bring something to fidget with, a marble or smooth stone, inevitably clattering to the floor on occasion, unfortunate with the marbles and how they rolled, leading him to bring a stone instead. Once, when he was seven or so, he caught a small grass snake along the path as they headed into Sanditon. He slipped it into his pocket, fully intending to return it to its home after a brief examination. But it settled down in the pocket’s dark recesses, so its capture extended a bit longer, precisely until the middle of the service. After several ladies screamed and one fainted, Adam finally emerged from beneath a distant pew, triumphant with the snake’s recapture, his hair mussed and knees dirty.

Mama was mortified by the incident, apologizing profusely to their fellow churchgoers, but he and Jay laughed about it in secret for weeks. He knew Papa did not share Mama’s opinion, not only from the apparent tiff that occurred in their private sitting room, but because Papa’s lecture was brief and Adam did not see _the look_ , the one that said, _I am so very disappointed in you_. Papa had no need to rule his house with an iron fist, he had only to give _the look_. For a son of Sidney Parker, to provoke that emotion in the man was far worse than any beating he ever might have given. In fact, a few times Adam and Jay had agreed a beating might have been easier to endure than Papa’s disappointment. Even the times he raised his voice in anger were preferable to _the look_.

Both Uncle Tom’s and Lord Babington’s families were in attendance at services, gathering together outside in the sunshine afterward. Uncle Tom, in his usual way, carried on enthusiastically about the crowds in town and the inspiring sermon today. Phoebe fawned over John Conrad, as he would be leaving tomorrow. She did not seem to realize he responded politely to her advances without acknowledging or returning the lightly veiled suggestions she kept tossing his way. It was plain to Adam the one Conrad favored was Amelia, but she in her sphinxlike manner appeared to disregard the boy’s feelings, at least when others were present. 

Adam kept to himself on the walk home, despite the concern he aroused on his mother’s face. She twice walked alongside him, first making small talk about yesterday’s gathering and the play, then next month’s visit with Susan. He answered not unkindly, but not convivially either. He could not quite pinpoint why he felt so bad-tempered. It started two weeks ago, when his excitement about John Conrad met the realization he would rarely be included in the activities of the two older boys. Then with the play and having to be Puck. It was not the character he would have chosen for himself, but then again perhaps he only felt so because Amelia made him take the part, determining who he should be. No one seemed to understand who he truly was. All the warm praise he received after did not soothe his irritation, which come to think of it might have started longer than two weeks ago. He stopped to look out over the sea, wondering what his future held. He craved adventure. Perhaps he’d join the Navy as Uncle Otis had, or travel to America to seek his fortune.

Upon arrival back at the Old Parker House, everyone scattered to their rooms to change and freshen up.

“He has me worried, Sidney,” Charlotte said while he unbuttoned her. “I still think asking about Jack was a direct challenge to you. I don’t feel good about it. Whatever do you think is the matter?”

“Hard to tell if he refuses to talk. I say we leave him be for the day. He’s at that age where he feels frustrated to still be a boy. He sees Jay and John, wants to be as they are. It goes back to his competitive nature. He’ll come round.”

Adam changed into riding attire and quickly headed out to the stable. Apollo and the carriage horses grazed in the pasture, but Jack and Titan were in their respective stalls. The grooms were gone save one left on duty, probably sleeping in a bale of hay somewhere, as it was Sunday and the servants had their day of rest. Titan appeared immediately at his stall gate, his warm brown coat and thick black mane a comforting sight. He nickered his greeting, hoping for an outing. Then Jack looked over his gate, seeming aware of how handsome he was, his fine Arabian head with wide brow and small muzzle, white blaze running up the center between them contrasting with the shiny black of the rest of his coat. He almost beckoned to the boy with his large, inquisitive eyes.

The siren’s song lured Adam in. Jack’s muzzle sought a bit of carrot as Adam stroked the stallion’s neck, rewarded with the one intended for Titan. And in a flash of impetuousness, the boy opened the gate and entered, determined to ride his father’s horse. Jack seemed happy for the company, nickering softly and offering no protest when Adam slipped the halter over his head, attached the lead with a slip knot and walked him out to tack up, past a disappointed Titan.

Adam was nearly finished grooming the sleek black coat when he heard boys’ laughter, then Jay’s distant voice. “Adam, what are you doing?”

Adam said nothing, finishing his work.

“What do you think you are doing?” Jay’s voice was harsh now as he strode towards Adam, John Conrad standing in the stable doorway. “You know Papa forbade you to take Jack.”

“Go away,” he said flatly, not looking at his brother.

“No, I will not!” Jay’s voice rose in anger. “I will not stand by and allow you to disobey Papa and risk injury to yourself or the horse. He goes back to his stall.”

Adam pushed his brother away with a firm shove to his chest. “You are not Papa. You cannot tell me what to do.”

Jay put up a hand in defense. “I don’t have to. He already told you. He forbids you to ride Jack. Don’t be foolish.”

Adam finished with the brushing and began to inspect and clean Jack’s hooves as Jay watched in disbelief.

“No, I will not be party to this,” Jay announced, untying Jack’s lead to return him to his stall. “Leave go his leg, Adam.”

In a split second, Adam was upon him. They fell together, Adam thrashing and pummeling. Jack, already showing signs of agitation with the exchange between the two boys, now spooked and kicked, narrowly missing Adam’s head, bolting from the stable, John dodging to avoid being trampled. The two brothers cursed and yelled, rolling and struggling with each other on the dirt floor, raising a cloud of dust, Jay attempting to subdue Adam, shocked by his younger brother’s ferocity and strength; Adam landing blows whenever and wherever he could. John hesitated, unsure of what to do.

Jay, with blood running from his lip, managed to get back on his feet, assuming a defensive boxing stance, Adam up on his feet within seconds, ready to box for more blood. “Conrad! Run to the house and bring my father, hurry!”

John raced up the hill, bursting through the front door, panting and shouting, “Mr Parker, come quickly! Your sons!”

Justine and Imogen turned from the piano, open mouthed, pointing towards the back. As he approached the doors to the terrace, Mr Parker appeared, his face taught.

“What? What is it?”

“Your sons, sir, they are fighting in the stable.”

“What?”

“Yes, sir, one has already drawn blood on the other.”

Mrs Parker came to her husband’s side, her face full of alarm. “Drawn blood? Why?”

“Over the horse. Adam was trying to ride him. You must come quickly.”

The two raced through the house and out the door, down to the stable where Jack pranced around the courtyard, snorting and whinnying, a groom trying to calm him. Then Sidney saw his two sons. Jay, his mouth bleeding and a bruise swelling on his cheek, was purely defensive, his arms held up blocking Adam’s punches, no strikes of his own outside of parries. Adam had the look of a madman, his face distorted with rage, his swings swift and straight, seeking to injure his target. Both were covered in dust and dirt, manure, bits of hay, rivulets of sweat leaving meandering paths through the grime on their foreheads.

For a heartbeat, Sidney froze at the sight of his two boys, the complete incongruity of the scene. Then by instinct, without a word, he strode over to Adam, took him by the collar at the scruff of his neck and hauled him off his feet and away from his brother, feeling the layers of fabric give way as they tore under the boy’s weight. Adam continued to struggle, trying to twist around to lash at his father, who wrapped his own arms around Adam’s, pressing them against the boy’s torso, lifting Adam off the ground, constrained against his own chest as the boy’s legs kicked in the air.

“Jay, go see your mother about your injuries.”

Jay, doubled over and gasping for breath, attempted to protest. “But Papa...”

“Go. Now. I will speak with you later.”

It took no small effort on his part to restrain Adam, whose strength was far greater than Sidney could have imagined, the boy panting and snorting not unlike the stallion outside, resisting his father’s arms around him. As he held the boy, Sidney’s mind floundered for an answer. Where had this come from? Had he overlooked some incident that led to this?

“Calm yourself, Adam,” he said, struggling to keep his own voice so.

The boy continued to fight against the arms that held him, but showed signs of tiring. “Why don’t you just beat me!” he half sobbed, half shouted, his voice strident and pitched high.

“What would I accomplish by such an act? How would it make this better, for any of us?”

Then he felt Adam’s body surrender, collapsing like a rag doll in his arms, the half sobbing turned to full. Sidney slightly loosened his hold, and after setting the boy’s feet back on the ground, he rocked him back and forth until Adam stilled and his breathing returned to normal and it seemed safe to let go, long after the groom passed them with Jack on the way back to his stall.

“Walk with me,” Sidney said, heading to the stable door. Adam followed with heavy feet. Sidney’s hand on his son’s shoulder, they walked up the drive, to the road towards the beach path. Sidney motioned to the outcropping of boulders at the path’s head. Adam settled with his head down, his jaw clenched, not wishing to see his father’s face, fearing the disappointment that would be there.

“Tell me what happened,” his father said, hands on his hips, his eyes under a furrowed brow looked out over the sea.

“I willfully disobeyed you and decided to ride Jack. Jay found me and tried to stop it. I attacked him; he is not at fault. The blame lies solely with me.”

“All right. Your honesty speaks well for you. But the next question is why? I don’t understand, Adam. Why did you choose to behave this way?” Sidney looked at his son, awaiting the answer.

The boy wiped his nose with the back of his hand, the knuckles split and bleeding. “I do not know. I felt angry.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

“That’s fairly broad. Did you wish Jay were me? Were you fighting me?”

“I had not thought of that. I was angry about everything. I wanted to prove I could command the horse.”

“To me or yourself?”

“Both I suppose.”

His father, still standing, rubbed his jaw with one hand. After a few moments he said softly, “How do we solve this, Adam? Somehow I have wronged you as you have wronged your brother. How do we make amends?”

Adam looked at his father, finally meeting his eyes, seeing only concern and sadness in them. “How have you wronged me, Papa? Now I do not understand.”

“I seem to have failed in providing you with something you needed. I cannot fathom why else you would have done this.” He waited for a response that did not come, so he continued. “When your mother and I married, I vowed to her and myself that I would not be the same sort of father my own had been. That if I had twelve sons, I would love them all equally. We’ve been so very lucky, your mother and I, to have five intelligent, healthy children, and part of that is due to the rules we’ve set to keep you safe from harm. So far you children have had only the predictable cuts and scrapes, a few broken bones, normal childhood illnesses. I forbade you to ride Jack to protect you from harm, not insult your abilities, but somehow I did. Do you understand my meaning now?”

“I think so. But you have not wronged me, Papa. I must ask Jay for his forgiveness. And you for yours.” He dropped his head and nearly whispered, “I should be punished.”

His father sighed deeply and shook his head. “And what do you suggest?”

“I clean out the horse stalls for a month.”

“Is that a punishment? You enjoy being with the horses.”

“Be scolded for a full hour every day for a month by Amelia and Justine?”

An involuntary chuckle escaped Sidney, followed by a small but wry smile from Adam. “I will discuss it with your mother. But now we must return.”

“May I go down to the beach and sea bathe first?”

“As much as I know it would be good for your soul, I know Mama is anxiously awaiting us. And those hands of yours require her care.”

As they stood in the vestibule removing their mucky boots, Charlotte appeared with Roland at her side. Her expression held relief, concern, a bit of anger but an immense love. Sidney’s eyes told her to say nothing about the boys’ combat.

“Jay is nearly finished in the bathing room. Let’s get those clothes off of you,” she said in her no nonsense Mama voice.

“Shall I help the young master, sir, or do you wish to change first?” asked Roland, as Sidney’s clothes were as soiled as Adam’s from holding him.

“Take the boy, I can tend to my own.”

Roland steered Adam to his chamber as Sidney and Charlotte went to theirs. In his dressing room, as he told her what happened, she helped him remove his garments, and poured fresh water into the basin for him to wash his face and hands, and again for a final rinse after he scrubbed them.

“How is Jay?” he asked, buttoning his clean waistcoat.

“Bruised. His lip has a nasty split.”

“I should speak to him.”

She finished tying his cravat and kissed him tenderly. “Go, I believe he may still be in the bathing room. It seemed easiest to wash all that filth out of his hair with the shower.”

Sidney knocked on the door. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” answered Jay. He was in his dressing gown and slippers, standing before the glass and toweling his hair as his father entered. “Is he all right? Adam?”

“As well as he can be considering the circumstances,” replied his father.

“I tried to stop him, Papa. He attacked me. I’ve seen him angry before, but never that way, ever. I did not strike him, I swear.”

“Yes, he has admitted to it all. He asks to be punished. What do you think of that?”

Jay made a scoffing face, then grimaced in pain as it stretched his lip. “Well, not on my account I hope. If you and Mama wish to punish him for disobeying, I have no right to object, but do not punish him because of this. After all, you never punished me for running into the sea all those years ago.”

“Hmm,” his father voiced on a sharp exhale. “He wishes to apologize. I know you will accept it graciously.”

“Indeed, I will.”

“Let me look at you.” He scrutinized Jay’s face. “I do not think this will blacken your eye, but that lip will smart for some time.”

“That is what Mama said. Do you think it will leave a scar?”

His father made a doubtful scowl. “Not a large one. Give you character. What other injuries have you?”

Jay pushed up the sleeves of his gown to reveal forearms covered with welts and bruises.

“Explains why his hands look as they do.”

“I could have hurt him had I wanted to, Papa. But I tell you, he was ferocious, and far stronger than I realized.”

“Yes, he is quite strong, but he was also in a rage, which tends to increase it.”

“I still do not understand why. Well, I should dress. I feel terrible for Conrad.”

“I will speak to him, give my apologies.” Sidney opened the door and stepped out; Jay followed.

Adam, clad only in his long linen shirt, waited with Roland. When the boy caught sight of his brother’s face, he blanched in shame, noticeable even through the grime.

“Wash up,” said Jay, “You’ll feel much better. We can speak later.” 

Adam could only nod.

Once alone, Sidney veritably sank into a chair in their sitting room and put his face in his hands. Charlotte stood before him, stroking his hair. He looked up at her and pulled her in, his arms around her waist. “You were right. There was, is, something amiss with him. He’s troubled in a way I never anticipated.”

“Angry.”

“Very. Bellicose, you were right; I should have listened. I suppose I thought because I'm a man and he's my son, I knew better. He lashed out at Jay because he could not at me. What have I done wrong, Charlotte? I’ve always tried to give him as much attention as I do Jay.”

She ran her hand across his brow, as if she could smooth the frown from it. “I don’t believe it is anything you or I have done. We’ve treated him no differently than any of the others. These emotions have been simmering in him for some time.”

“I intend to find out why. There was a small amount of humor, though.”

“Oh?”

“When he suggested he be punished and I asked what he thought was fitting, he said to be scolded for an hour a day, every day for a month by Amelia and Justine.”

Charlotte smiled and bit her lower lip. “I don’t know what to think.”

“I imagine it could be a cruel torture for a boy his age."

“Do not tell the girls. It would break their hearts.”

“Never.” He buried his face in her breasts, sighing deeply.

“He’s asked to eat in his room this evening. I agreed,” she said, playing with the curls at the back of his head.

“Adam?”

“Yes.”

He nodded in agreement.

###

The conversation at the table that evening was less subdued than expected. Maggie kept the mood light, encouraging lively discussion of the merits of _Ivanhoe_. Many questions were asked of Mr Conrad, on the eve of his departure, about his plans for the rest of the summer season and beyond, for the Oxford entrance exams and future plans. When dinner was finished, Sidney asked for a private word with him, taking him up to his study.

“I wish to apologize to you for Adam’s behavior today. I’ve never seen anything of the sort from him, or any of my children. I hope you do not leave with a bad impression of the Parkers.”

John shook his head in surprise. “No sir, I have no such notion. Jay explained the same to me. I have thoroughly enjoyed my time here and thank you and Mrs Parker for your gracious hospitality. In fact, sir, I was hoping to speak to you myself about something of a different nature, if I may.”

“Certainly. Share your thoughts.”

“Not thoughts so much, but a request. May I have permission to correspond with your daughter, Miss Amelia?”

Sidney was not at all surprised. “Have you asked her?”

“No sir, I would never ask without your permission.”

“Very well, if she gives hers, you have mine.”

An ecstatic grin came to John’s face. “Thank you, sir, thank you so very much.” He extended his hand to the father of the girl who had stolen his heart, and the father smiled and shook it warmly.


	65. The Day After

**The Eighteenth of July, 1836**

_Sanditon_

In the wee hours of the morning, nothing left of the candle to snuff, they finally found sleep. Charlotte had to think all the way back to the fire and Sidney’s forced engagement to Eliza to remember him quite so morose, so filled with doubt. Her beloved husband had put on a valiant deception at the dinner table, concealing his emotions as one covers a wound, revealed only when she saw him look at Jay, who also appeared nonchalant over the condition of his face and arms in a brave attempt to keep normality. Sidney stayed in his study for the remainder of the evening, the only bright point for him was John Conrad asking for his permission to write to Amelia. He genuinely liked the boy, as did she.

When they had retired, he lay on his back in the flickering candlelight and poured out his soul to her in a river of hurt and uncertainty. His shock, his sorrow, his disappointment not only in his son, but in himself, as if somehow he bore all responsibility for Adam’s actions. He never should have taught them to box; he should have given Adam his own horse… on and on he flogged himself. She let him purge, as it were, with only a mild interjection here and there until he made a half jest that they should have named the boy, Cain, not Adam. There she set him straight.

“This is not biblical, Sidney. God does not favor one of our sons over the other. The boy is troubled, just as Jay was at times, and as I am sure Aaron will be. Many might say it is all my fault, a headstrong, opinionated mother causing strife between her sons. Truthfully, there is only one person who is to blame, should blame be cast, and that is Adam.”

He turned his head and looked at her, the questioning in his dark eyes apparent even in the dim light. “And what do you propose? We punish him as he has asked? How?”

“You know I dislike punishment as much as you do. No, if there is to be any penance for the boy to pay, it will be in baring his soul as you have done. He cannot keep those thoughts hidden inside him. Whatever it is that distresses him must see the light of day. It’s the only way. I will see to it.”

“As any headstrong, opinionated mother would do,” he said, finally a bit of tease in his voice.

“I’ll speak to him in the morning. I must check his hands anyway. I am grateful the boys’ injuries do not require Dr Fuchs. I can only imagine the tongues that would eventually start wagging.”

“I believe you overestimate gossips’ interest in our family.”

“Hardly. It took forever for the gossip to stop about Tom. You know that is why I insist we attend services. It certainly isn’t to hear the profundity of Reverend Hankins. It took months to live down Adam’s snake as it was.”

He snickered. She joined. “Good Lord, how many weeks of serpent sermons did we endure after that? But you must admit now, it _was_ humorous.”

“Yes, it was.” She sighed. “No my darling husband, I prefer to remain out here on our little piece of heaven, far from prying eyes. Thankfully we have the loyalty of those who work for us. I cannot even imagine if the scandalmongers were to discover what goes on in this bedroom. _Shocking, I tell you! I heard Mrs Parker behaves like a strumpet! A proper wife does her duty quietly on her back!”_

He snorted, then turned on his side, propping his head on his hand. “Well, my love, first of all, what happens between us in this bed, this room, _anywhere_ , is ours, and ours alone, always has been, always will be. And secondly,” he ran his finger along her cheek to her chin, “while I am partial in a _manly_ way to you on your back, I relish you in every _various condition_ we’ve accomplished over the years.”

She turned into him, pressing a firm kiss onto his smile. “There is my Sidney. I knew you would come back.”

###

As she often did, Amelia woke at first light. Of late, she had taken a bit more time with her morning routine, choosing a dress she knew was becoming to her, sweeping her hair up just so, adding a necklace or brooch. She pinched her cheeks and rolled her lips, taking a last look in the glass. _John_. She thought of him by that name, not _Mr Conrad_. Surely he would come to the terrace this morning, as he had a number of times now. He was leaving after breakfast, after all.

With notebook and pencil, she settled into her usual place at the terrace table and gazed out over the landscape. _The golden summer sunrise through the trees, the sweet scent of the meadow, the cool morning breeze, the distant sound of the sea…_ She had recorded his words in her notebook that very morning he spoke them. He _was_ poetic... She sighed and opened the notebook, now many pages past that particular entry, writing the date and proceeding to jot down her thoughts…

And _he_ appeared as if she had conjured him.

“Good morning, Miss Parker. May I join you?”

“Of course, Mr Conrad. You must be pleased to be returning home today.”

“Ah.” It was a rich sound, from deep within his chest. After seating himself, he continued. “Yes, I do miss my family, but I’m fortunate to live at home during the term. I do not have those long months away as your brother does. And in truth, Miss Parker, I have enjoyed my time here immensely.”

She closed and set her notebook and pencil on the table. “Have you?”

“Indeed. I shall miss it.”

“Well, I believe we shall all miss you as well.”

He looked out over the garden, then turned his attention to the notebook. “What is it you write of every morning so faithfully, if I may be so bold to ask?”

“A habit I acquired on our first trip to France. A diary of sorts, general observations and such.”

“I… that is to say…” He looked down at his hands in his lap.

“Yes?”

“Forgive me Miss Parker, I took the liberty of asking your father if I may write to you. And he said if you approved, so would he.”

She felt a distinct flutter travel from neck to belly and back up. “That sounds like my father.”

His face was earnest now, fully focused on hers. “But do you? Agree, that is? May I have permission to write to you?”

“And what do you wish to write about?” She tilted her head and smiled, as she had seen Mama do countless times at Papa.

His smile came back a bit rakish, as if he knew she teased him and he enjoyed it. “Oh, well, Miss Parker, the topics are endless. Our current literary choices, societal norms, scientific discoveries...”

“Is that all?” she asked, jesting, her eyebrows raised.

He laughed. “Come, Miss Parker, you tease me now. May I write to you?”

She joined his laughter, feeling quite daring. “I would very much enjoy it.”

“There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

They looked at each other and chuckled again, then looked away, then back, then both tried to speak.

“Please, go on,” he said.

“I have been wondering about your mother’s native tongue. Her name…”

“Darshini.”

“Yes, does it have a meaning?”

“It does… the one who blesses.”

“How lovely.”

“I have a Gujarati name as well. Would you care to know it?”

“Of course.”

“Jivan. It means life or bringer of life.”

She took her notebook and opened it to a fresh page, handing it to him with the pencil. “Put it here.”

He looked pleasantly surprised. “You allow me to write in your notebook?”

“Please.”

He gave a contented little half smile and took the notebook and pencil from her. In rather large and florid script her wrote, _Jivan = Bringer of Life_ , and underneath in the Gujarati language, જીવન

“Does your family call you Jivan?” She took care to say it as he had.

“My mother. Sometimes my sister. It was a compromise between my mother and father. John and Jivan, they sound somewhat alike.”

He handed her the notebook with the pencil atop, but as she reached for it the pencil slipped and fell to the ground. They both bent over at the same time to retrieve it. His arms were far longer, so he reached the pencil first, but not before their arms, shoulders, and heads brushed. There again came the flutter, only this time she felt a blush creep up as well. She bolted upright, sure he must hear her heart thudding as it did in her own ears.

“John is biblical, meaning God Is gracious.” she said, staring ahead, her back straight, her hands in her lap clutching the notebook.

“Yes, from Hebrew.” He gently placed the pencil on the table.

“My grandfather’s name, and one of Jay’s, as you know.”

“And Amelia? What is the origin and meaning of yours?” She risked a sidelong look at him, hoping the blush had subsided.

“Hardworking and industrious. From _amal_ , meaning work in German.”

He nodded. “You speak German, do you not?”

“Write and read more than speak. I am told my pronunciation is terrible.”

“By whom? The fellow your brother spoke of?”

“ _Graf_ _Wilhelm, ja_.”

His voice had a slight edge to it. “Have you… have you spent much time in his company? For him to evaluate I mean.”

“Twice only, since the first time we met when I was five and he was nearly seven.”

“Here. In England?”

“Umm,” she nodded. “His late mother was English. They have a rather palatial home in London they visit on occasion, near St James’s Square. It belonged to her originally. She and my father knew each other when they were very young, which is how he knows Wilhelm’s father. I am not privy to all the details. Papa never speaks of it much.”

“Well, I have no ability to converse in German. You will have to settle for English from me.”

“I shall survive quite well, I believe.” She met his eyes again, offering a teasing smile in return for his.

“Conrad!” came Jay’s voice from the doorway. “I suspected I would find you here. Am I not a handsome devil?” The swelling had subsided on Jay’s injuries, no doubt thanks to Mama’s insistence he treat them with cool compresses, but the color had deepened to the dark mottled purple of fresh bruising, the edges tinged in shades of red and violet. His speech was slightly slurred, the result of his care not to aggravate the split lip, shiny with the salve Mama had him apply.

“Good heavens, Jay! It looks so painful!” Amelia gasped.

“You are entirely correct in that assumption,” he replied, trying not to smile. “Come to the table. The sideboard is set now.” He retreated back inside.

John stood and pulled away his chair, easing departure from her own. He offered his hand, palm up, amber eyes intent on her. “Miss Parker, may I assist you?”

In the heavily codified world they inhabited, she was quite aware this was no small gesture, even a brazen one. Her response to it would tell him everything he wished to know. She slipped her hand fully into his, palm against palm. His thumb closed around without hesitation. His hand was warm and dry and strong. The touch was as brief as the time it took for her to rise and leave her chair. His hand immediately released hers when she reached the table’s edge. He stood back to allow her to pass through the doorway and into the house. Still, she felt his hand’s presence against her own for long after, as if the encounter had lasted a lifetime.

###

Sidney had already left for breakfast. Kellow finished Charlotte’s hair and excused herself, leaving Charlotte alone before the mirror in her dressing room. She studied the weary face looking back. “Go on headstrong, opinionated mother, your son awaits,” she said to the reflection.

She knocked on her son’s door. “Adam, have you risen? May I come in?” No response from within. “Adam,” she said a bit more forcefully, “I need to attend to your injuries. I am coming in.”

The curtains were still drawn, adding to the gloominess that shrouded the room. Adam lay with his back to the door, nothing but the top of his head showing over the covers. She opened the curtains, then took a seat on the bed and gently shook the covered form. “Adam, time to rise. Let me see your hands, please.” Still no response. She pulled the coverlet away from his face. He squeezed his eyes tight. Into his ear she said, “Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman.”

The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “I’m hiding. To escape the giant.”

“And is that giant your mother?”

“No.”

“Then show me those hands, young man.”

He sighed and rolled over, opening his eyes and looking up at her. He had reached the age where his nose grew faster than the rest of his face, and his voice wavered between a boy’s and a man’s with cracks and croaks on occasion. “I feel horrible, Mama.”

“I would be surprised if you did not. Hands, please.” He brought his hands out from underneath. Blood had soaked through the bandages in a few spots. “You will need to sit up.”

She helped him, propping the pillows behind him. Then she unrolled the towel she’d brought in, with scissors, bandages, a pot of herbal salve, and a small kit containing needle and thread, arranging them on the nearby bedtable. “It is possible I may need to put in a stitch or two. We’ll see how they look.” She cut through the bandage underneath his hand and carefully lifted it off the knuckles in front, made easy by the salve she had slathered on the night before.

“Well?” asked Adam. “Stitches?”

“You sound as if you want them.”

“No, I do not, but… I will not protest.”

“Nor did your Papa when I stitched up his hand.”

“I wasn’t born then.”

“No, you were close to being born, though.”

“Does he hate me?”

She looked up from removing the second bandage, brow furrowed. “Who?”

“Papa.”

She placed his hand down and put hers on his forehead, smoothing back his hair. The brown eyes questioning her were nearly identical to his father’s. So alike, those two. “My dearest boy, your father could never hate you. He would willingly give his life for you, for any of us, without a moment’s hesitation.”

“How could he not hate me?”

“It seems to me the only one who _hates_ you at this moment is yourself.”

“Jay does.”

“He does not. He specifically asked you not be punished in any way because of him.”

“Why? I was beastly, horrid to him.”

“Because he loves you and forgives you. And he knows how it feels to be so frustrated, as you are now.”

He turned his face away and did not respond. She went back to removing the second bandage. The right hand was far worse than the left, but neither required a helping stitch to close, not so long as he was careful. She informed him of her assessment.

He listened, his face still turned to the side. Without changing position he said: “Do you know how terrible it is to look like him but know you will never be as perfect?”

“No, I do not know. Explain.”

“Everyone expects me to be as perfect as he because I resemble him. The esteemed Sidney Parker, strong, intelligent, fails at nothing, fine family man, noble provider. Do not dare disappoint him. Do not dare be anything other than the great man’s second son.”

She sat stunned, searching for a response. After a lengthy silence, she asked, “May I tell you a story?”

“I am not a baby, Mama.”

“This is not a story for a baby.”

He cast a sidelong look at her and resumed his pout.

“All right, I will accept your response as an affirmative. Let me see… Once upon a time, many years ago, a naïve young gentlewoman met a handsome, mysterious gentleman. He was a troubled man, dark and angry, most unkind, most _ungentlemanly_ , in their initial encounters. When first he met her in the company of his sister, he insulted the young woman by inquiring if she were a new maid, though he knew quite well she was not. And because the young woman was the guest of the troubled man’s family, they crossed paths numerous times, all with terrible results, until fate put them together in situations that tested them…”

“Such as?”

“Well, they helped a badly injured man, and searched through London and beyond for a kidnapped heiress. And the two began to realize they did not dislike each other, quite the opposite. And then the young woman learned the troubled man had once been a carefree young fellow, mischievous in his youth, sunny and kind until he fell in love with a beautiful girl who broke his heart. He reacted in a most destructive way, sorely distressing his family, especially his father and older brother. So they sent him far away, to the colonies, where he witnessed more cruelties than he ever could have imagined. And eight years later, he returned, the dark and angry man she had first met. And suddenly she understood him. But fate was not yet finished with our two, tossing more obstacles in the path of true love, forcing the young man to his own realization. He went to the young woman and made a declaration to her. He said, _I am a great deal less than perfect. You’ve made me all too aware of that. But for whatever it’s worth, I believe I am my best self, my truest self, when I’m with you.”_

He suspected from the beginning it was his parents’ own story. The older family members, his aunts and uncles, still jested on occasion of the tempestuous beginning. But all was confirmed by the mention of the colonies and Aunt Georgiana’s kidnapping, a story all the extended family knew, though in a highly abridged version for the children. “He said that to you?”

“He did. Your father has never thought himself perfect. Only last night he lamented his imperfections. He has worked tirelessly to live up to his declaration, to be his best and truest self. When you were a small boy and woke from nightmares, he would go to the nursery and comfort you, sometimes bringing you back to our bed. He walked the floor with you when you had the colic. Do you remember how he carried you everywhere when you broke the bone in your foot?”

Adam nodded, fidgeting sheepishly.

“He loves you, Adam, as I do. He used to jest when people remarked at how strong the resemblance is between you two, _But you will forgive me for that someday, will you not, Adam?”_

“I remember.”

“You _need_ to forgive him that, and yourself for yesterday. Someday you will understand your resemblance to him is a great asset, not a burden. We have only one expectation for you, my darling son, and that is you grow up to be a good man, honest, kind, principled. We do not expect you to be Sidney Parker, any more than we expect Amelia to be Charlotte Heywood because she bears a resemblance. We expect you to be Adam Parker, your best and truest self. It is a tall order, I know, but I have faith in you.”

“What do I do?”

“Get up, wash, let me put fresh bandages on your wounds. Then you will dress and come to the breakfast table. You will apologize to our guest, Mr Conrad, and bid him a safe journey home. You will apologize to Jay, for injuring him so. And you will apologize to Papa, for doubting his love.”

“How? What do I say?”

“You tell him you vow to be your best and truest self. He will understand. Can you do it?”

###

The Parker family lined up in the usual manner they assumed when bidding farewell. The Berline was loaded up, Roland waiting for the young visitor to say his goodbyes. John Jivan Conrad expressed his gratitude for hospitality of the Parkers, all the way down to the newest member, whose arrival he had witnessed. He had a few private words with Adam, accompanied by a firm pat on the shoulder; and a warm embrace for his friend, Jay. “I will deliver your letter to Emmy,” he said with a wink. The two had discussed the unusual circumstances of each being drawn to the other’s sister. And for that sister, only John’s eyes revealed his emotions when he bowed and said, “Miss Parker, it has been a pleasure.”

They all waved as the carriage rolled up the drive, Aaron chasing after, Rascal at his heels.

“Aaron, take care,” his mother called after him.

Jay draped his arm around Adam’s shoulders, and Adam accepted it with a gentle lean, his own arm encircling his brother’s waist.


	66. Summer Visits

**The First of August, 1836**

_Willingden_

The habit of the Parker family was to stop at both the Heywood estate in Willingden and Covington House in Surrey on the same trip. The two locations, while not precisely in line as far as the maps were concerned, were as far as hearts. On this visit, Willingden came first. Margaret Heywood was returning home to prepare for her wedding. Elizabeth Heywood, the last of the twelve, would join the Parkers in September as a governess, providing social and academic education for the two Parker daughters, as Maggie had done. The three-year arrangement had been highly suitable for Maggie, allowing her to earn and save a proper sum, all while living with family and mingling in their society, leading to a fine match with an upcoming London barrister.

The two carriages containing six children, two parents, an aunt, and various servants crossed the timeworn stone bridge and continued down the meandering drive towards the old wattle and daub manor. John, Charlotte’s brother and the eldest Heywood son, managed the estate now. He and his wife, Abigail, had increased their family to four children, a fifth on the way.

Imogen sat in quiet repose between Amelia and Justine, her beloved ragdoll, Bridget, in her lap. Now in her fourth week with the Parkers, Imogen had grown accustomed to the lively conversation and playfulness of the other children, even venturing her own small quip now and then. Justine had carefully coached her on the Heywood family, who was who and what to expect.

Charlotte was never quite prepared for what to expect when seeing her parents again after a span of months. Each time they appeared more tired and gray, older than their years. At three and sixty, Mr Heywood’s once proud deportment had developed a stoop, his manner now slower and more measured, even forgetful at times. As his son took over more of the duties of the estate, it seemed the lifeblood of the father went with them, as if the man’s very essence was dependent on the work that had consumed his life. Mrs Heywood, two years younger, seemed to slowly collapse into herself, the body that had given life to twelve now with nothing left to support itself. She spent her days in the same chair, sewing or reading, no longer the mistress of the manor, that role passing to Abigail as the management of the estate had to John.

Charlotte sometimes questioned the prudence of the decision she and her siblings made to encourage the elder Heywoods to pass the duties onward. They had hoped the lessening of their parents’ burden would invigorate, but instead, it seemed to weaken. Her brother routinely dismissed her fears, assuring her it was a matter of age itself, not diminished duties, but Charlotte could only think of others at the same age and older, who showed no such decline. When she first met Lady Denham, the grande dame of Sanditon was her mother’s age now.

The grandparents brightened, though, on seeing the Parker brood, their first grandchild, Jay, nearly a man. His bruises had largely faded, the split in his lip now a fresh red scar, easily explained as caused by a mishap. The injuries on Adam’s hands were the same, the two deepest cuts with remnant scabs, not an unusual state for a boy his age. Their relationship mirrored their physical wounds, healing, the scars still fresh, as both boys endeavored to be their best and truest selves.

Over the next two days, Imogen was quickly swept up into the bustle of the youngest Heywood and Parker cousins, Aaron acting as her escort through the best parts of the Heywood farm as seen through a young child’s eyes -- baby animals, and fishing spots, and rope swings. Adam and Jeremy, only a few months apart in age, retreated to the stables, arm wrestling and playing boy games when not out riding. Jay occasionally accompanied them, but often chose to stay with his father and listen while he discussed such things as grain prices and commodity investments with John and Grandpapa, and walked with them to view the new tenant cottages.

Jay loved his grandfather with his wizened blue eyes and kindly ways, liking nothing better than to stroll the fields with him, soaking up his words of wisdom about farming and estate management, tales of being at the mercy of the soil, and the rain, and the sun. It was not a life Jay would choose, but he felt connected to something far greater than himself when he listened to his grandfather. Jay was, after all, half Heywood. It was in his blood, Grandpapa would remind him. And then his grandfather would listen intently to Jay’s stories about school, and they would discuss the great philosophers or Newton’s laws of motion, which Grandpapa seemed to find examples of throughout the estate.

Justine and her cousin Nora found close society, conversing about the latest novel they’d read or Maggie’s wedding preparations or piano pieces. Amelia most often preferred to stay with her mother and aunts, hovering on the periphery of their conversations with Grandmamma as she did on that of womanhood, listening as they quietly the spoke of the orphaned child or Maggie’s new life or other women’s subjects. On the first morning, Charlotte and her mother spoke at length about the Change, prompting Amelia to seek out her sister. She felt frustrated at times the conversations seemed so mundane, so staid, so dull. She wondered to herself, _Is this truly the world of women?_

###

“If you try to hold that book any further away, you will need longer arms,” Charlotte said to her husband.

“Too dim to read anyway,” he replied, closing the book with a snap. “I suppose I need magnifying spectacles, all the years of pouring over ledgers and shipping documents have taken their toll.” He set the book on the bedtable and lay back, rubbing his eyes.

She shifted the old copper hot water bottle on her abdomen, as it cooled off under the swaddling.

He turned to her with a look of concern. “You have more pain than usual. Not something still from… from the loss, is it?”

“I think no; Mama says it was the first sign of the Change for her.”

“You’re not yet forty.”

“It takes years.” She reached over and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. “How many husbands even notice their wife’s monthlies? Or avoid them completely, thinking they are unclean, that it will sap a man’s virility to be near.”

He sighed. “What they do not understand frightens them. The daft ideas are joked about first at school and later by a drunken lout at a men’s club. Gentlemen do not routinely talk of such things. My father never said a word to me. It’s all shrouded in mystery.”

“Only made worse when doctors publish nonsense saying it is a disease that causes madness.”

“All I can do is ensure our sons enter their own marriages with no such ignorance. I promise you that.” He sighed again and closed his eyes for a moment. “It was what, not even two weeks we had been married. Dear God, I thought I had injured you. Remember?”

“The look on your face…” she giggled. “I had been meaning to prepare you; let you know it was coming any day… but we were so _preoccupied.”_ She rubbed the back of her hand across his chest, watching him as her giggle grew to laughter.

“Go ahead, you laughed at me then, laugh at me now. No sympathy. There I was horrified I had somehow impaled you on my manhood and caused bodily harm and all you could do was giggle.” He was successful at maintaining an injured expression for a moment before his deep rhythmic chuckle rumbled up with his half rakish half boyish grin, deepening the lines at the corners of his eyes.

“You had a married brother with four children. I thought for sure he might have said something to you.”

“ _Tom?”_

“Ahh, yes, you’re right.” She settled and caught her breath, wiping the corners of her eyes.

“Certainly disproved the sapped virility notion. I was not about to wait five days.” He caught her hand in mid-motion and brought it to his lips. “Incorrigible from the beginning, was I not?”

“Much to my eternal delight. The last thing you lacked was virility,” she smirked.

He raised his eyebrows. “ _Was?”_

“Is.”

“Better.” He brought their two hands back to his chest. “I am still the outlier, just as you said long ago. There are men who would shudder if they knew I was present for the births of our children.”

“And there are women who would consider me insane for having you there. Most do not want their husbands to see them in that state. It is an old bond between women they do not wish to share with men.”

“We live our lives the way we see fit.”

“Indeed.” She took the now cool bottle and placed it on the floor, then curled up into him.

“Feel better?” She nodded. “Adam seems to be doing well,” he continued, his fingers slowly tracing up and down her arm.

“He is trying. I suppose being with Jeremy is a welcome change for him.”

“I still cannot understand how he came upon the idea that he would never live up to my expectations. Or worse, that I did not love him.”

“He walks through town with you and sees men treat you with deference. He attends the summer functions, socializes with other boys who comment. He hears men speak of you. I would not be at all surprised if some well-meaning fellow or two has told him he has large footsteps to follow in, or called him the second son of the great man, as he put it. You yourself said it is the world that will treat him as lesser for that.”

“Yes, but still… He’s not been one to talk openly when something concerns him, so I have not pressed him. I never seem able to have the long conversations with him that Jay and I do. He is so instinctive, so choleric.”

“All true.”

“I have a thought to get him his own horse for his birthday. What do you think?”

“Have you written to Charles?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“I think it is a fine idea. Another pony, I hope.”

“We will see what Charles thinks. He is the horse expert.”

###

At the end of two days, the time for embraces and kisses of farewell had arrived. They would return in September for the wedding, but now the road led to Surrey.

**The Third of August, 1836**

_Covington House, Surrey_

Lady Susan Worcester was the second daughter of an earl who married the third son of a marquess. It was a most suitable match, although he was several years older. They were betrothed for nearly two years and married in 1809, when she was four and twenty. Lord Trevor Worcester was often gone, having achieved the rank of Colonel and serving under the Duke of Wellington. His time away far exceed his time at home with his young bride, and he met his valiant end during the Peninsula War of 1812, leaving the Lady Trevor Worcester a widow at the age of eight and twenty, without children, but with a London townhouse, a country estate in Surrey, and an income of 5,000 pounds a year. When her mourning year was finished, she emerged as Lady Susan Worcester, and vowed never to remarry.

On a spring evening in 1819, during yet another tedious ball hosted by a London socialite, she was happened upon by a most extraordinary young woman, pure and ingenuous. And while Lady Susan would be the first to admit she helped change the course of the young woman’s life, she felt her own life had been forever altered by her young friend’s presence in it. Charlotte and Sidney were family to her. And the children, they were her heart, especially her beloved Amelia and Justine. And now, she was to meet a new, unexpected member of the family.

Yes, her investment in Sanditon had paid off quite well, both personally and financially. So impressed was she with Sidney’s innate abilities, she began to take his advice regarding other investments, all paying a handsome return.

Midafternoon, the two Parker carriages approached the limestone clad Carolean mansion gleaming in the sun, surrounded by wildness afar; orchards, lakes and manicured gardens close in.

“Remember to curtsy, and address her as Lady Worcester until she gives you permission to call her Susan,” Justine advised Imogen.

“But she is a noble lady? A real one?” asked Imogen with her wide eyed expression.

“She is. But you must not be afraid. She is an auntie to us and will love you as well,” Justine said.

Fond greetings and embraces commenced the moment the children stepped, and in Aaron’s case, bounded, from the carriages, followed by their parents. Imogen hung back between Charlotte and Sidney, gazing up at the great and beautiful lady. The other children surrounded her as she beckoned Imogen forward. Charlotte placed a gentle hand on the child’s back and walked with her. Susan felt her heart melt. There were no other words to describe the sensation. How delicate the girl seemed with her luminous complexion framed by curly auburn hair, deep green eyes peering up at her from underneath thick long lashes.

“Susan, allow me to present Miss Imogen Dougherty,” said Charlotte. And as she had been taught, Imogen arranged her feet, took hold of the sides of her dress and bowed her head as she bent her knees in a perfect curtsy. “Imogen, this is Lady Susan Worcester.”

“But you must call me Susan,” she said extending her hand down to the girl.

**The Fourth of August, 1836**

_Covington House, Surrey_

“It seems she is so young, Charlotte, have you no concerns?”

Early afternoon of the second day found Susan and Charlotte strolling the topiary garden, deep in discussion about Amelia.

“Her correspondence with Wilhelm all these years has been rewarding, I think. It is true Sidney believes young Mr Conrad is taken with her _,_ but what harm could come from exchanging letters? Amelia has always been prudent. She has plans for her life, I am sure, and I do not believe they include an early marriage. I do trust her judgment.”

“I agree she is a sensible girl.”

“We are rather secluded where we live. Not so much as I was in Willingden, but still, I think the letters afford her an opportunity to socialize and share ideas in a respectable way. John’s father has allowed Jay to correspond with _his_ daughter, so it would be awkward, do you not think?”

“Yes, I see your point.”

“Justine on the other hand…”

Susan chuckled. “She is quite the romantic soul, I agree, but her heart is so kind and good. Have you heard her compositions?”

“Compositions? Piano?”

“Yes, she played them for me yesterday. Quite good, I think. She has not told you?”

Charlotte looked at her, feeling slightly confused. “No, I am embarrassed to say. She has been playing unknown pieces recently, but always insists she found them in a practice book.”

“Hmm, I suspect she was not ready to reveal the composer just yet. She asked for my opinion as a fellow player. I shall request she play them after dinner one night.”

“My children never cease to astonish me.”

“And little Imogen. It must be difficult to not yet know her fate.”

“We’ve decided we must wait until September for an answer from the father, as I think I said in my letter.”

“Yes, you did…”

“Oh Susan, frankly we would love to continue with her in our care. She has simply blossomed in the last few weeks. We all love her so. But she does have family, and we feel obligated to try.”

“Frightening though, you know nothing of the man, no idea what she might face with him.”

“True, and he did abandon her and her mother. Sidney and I have spoken of it many times.”

“All I will add, my darling girl, is from what you have told me of her past, the child is blessed to be with you, and what I see is a very happy little girl. I fervently hope she does not return to the sort of life she had before.”

“But legally, paternal rights take precedence over all, the entire reason Sidney felt he had to pursue it, to leave no stone unturned so we _and she_ would not face a surprise years later. He consulted at length with his solicitor. All we can hope for is the man does not want her. Or we cannot find him.”

“Or he is dead.”

“Yes. Death is the final executor.”

###

The first time they had walked along this path seventeen years ago to the month, they were reeling in astonishment at their luck, lost entirely in passion and new love, spellbound in each other’s presence, intoxicated by the mere touch of the other’s fingers. And yet, as they passed through the rose garden, out to the meadow of tall grass, towards the groves of trees that followed the stream, they felt those emotions as keenly as the first time. Their good fortune, their passion and love, the intoxication a mere touch could bring, none had faded, only deepened into the steady pulse that was their life together.

They arrived at the outcropping of boulders by the stream, the shady spot a favorite place to rest and talk. And while over the years the content of those conversations had changed, they never lost the thread of listening to each other, of being open and honest. As they discussed Susan’s concerns for Amelia and Justine’s piano compositions she did not divulge, shouts and laughter rose in the near distance.

“We’ve been discovered,” said Sidney, holding her a little tighter and kissing her temple.

“Perhaps they’ve come to fetch us.”

“Oh, I doubt it. They’re simply on a frolic. You must admit, all in all, we do have happy children.”

“I suppose you’re right. I also admit Adam’s outburst quite stunned me.”

He pulled back and looked at her in disbelief. “ _Now_ you say you were stunned? You were nothing short of stoic through it all. I thought I was the one wringing my hands, not you.”

“Well, one of us had to keep our head. You have surely been the one to do so when I’ve fallen apart.”

The shouts were nearer now.

“Come, let us straighten up before we’re set upon by our own wild animals,” he said.

Within moments, all six of them entered the grove of trees, Jay playing Pied Piper as the other five danced and sang and laughed, all wearing garlands woven from grass flowers and tiny field daisies, the girls trailing scarves. Seeing their parents, they whooped in joy, dancing circles around them, blowing kisses, then continuing on their way down the path, into the trees, the sounds receding into the babbling of the stream.

“Are you certain they are ours, Mrs Parker?” he asked as the revelers disappeared.

“Quite certain.”

**The Sixth of August, 1836**

_Covington House, Surrey_

“Simply titled, Three Songs in the Style of Chopin,” Justine said from the piano bench.

And as she played her creations for her family, she felt pleased and satisfied with herself. Perhaps she did have a standing among them, she simply had not realized it. Sitting next to Charlotte, Imogen softly hummed the melodies.

A robust round of applause and cheers followed the recital. Justine stood and curtsied, the color high in her cheeks, her sweet, heart-shaped face framed by honey curls was positively beaming.

“You know these songs,” Charlotte said to Imogen.

“Yes, I do. I am learning to play them.”

“Ah,” said Charlotte. “How wonderful.”

**The Eighth of August, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Returning to the Old Parker House held comfort and relief, no matter how lovely the travels and visits had been. Luggage was unloaded. The master and mistress brought up to date. Travel clothes were changed. Aaron rushed to the stables to find Rascal, Imogen in tow. Tea was asked for. Sidney sorted through the mail. The usual business posts. One for Amelia from Wilhelm. One for Mr and Mrs Parker from John Conrad. And one from Ireland, from a Mrs S Boyle.


	67. The Rights of Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a delightful conversation transpired with the last three chapters! I am so grateful for all of you staying with me on this journey. Many thanks!
> 
> I've left notes at the end of the chapter about a liberty I've taken in a legal aspect of the chapter's content. Otherwise, it is reasonably accurate as far as my basic research has shown me. Apologies to those familiar with 19th century English law. It's fanfiction.😉

Still **The Eighth of August, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Sidney left Wilhelm’s letter on the vestibule table for Amelia to find, and taking the rest, he headed to his study, checking several rooms before finding his wife and motioning with his head for her to follow. Her eyes asked; he answered by handing her the unopened letter from Mrs Boyle.

She shut the study door behind her, joining him at the desk where he had placed the other letters. “That did not take long. From his wife?”

“Apparently.”

She broke the seal and laid the paper flat out on the desk, smoothing it down for easier reading. The handwriting was small and cramped.

_28 July 1836 Letterkenny_

_Dear Mr Parker,_

_Even though I have not the money to post this without hardship, I am responding to you for my husband, Seamus Boyle. He left near a year ago and his whereabouts are unknown to me. As I am on my own with two children to care for, I cannot help you in any way with the child of Deirdre Dougherty. Certainly I am sorry to hear of the woman’s passing for the child’s sake, but have no wish to care for my husband’s illegitimate child nor Mr Patrick Dougherty’s grandchild, even if I had the means to do so._

_If I may offer you a bit of advice, do not expect the old man to welcome the girl. He cast out his only daughter. Mrs Dougherty passed two years ago, and Dougherty is more wretched than ever I hear. You say the child is well with you, then if you have the means, keep her there. A child does not belong with the likes of that old man._

_Now, I have told you all I know and then some. Please do not be troubling me again._

_Sincerely,_

_Mrs S Boyle_

Charlotte shook her head. “So he left her as well. His wife and two children.” She looked up at Sidney, who continued to stare at the letter. “What do we do now?” she asked.

He broke his focus from the letter and turned it to her, disgust his countenance. “I know what we will _not_ do, and that is let him near Imogen. Ever. I do not care about his possible paternal rights. His name on the birth certificate is the sole reason he has them. He does not deserve to be within a mile of that child.”

“I cannot imagine he would want to. He abandoned her and his two legitimate ones.”

He rubbed his jaw, still scowling. “The grandfather seems as appalling as the father.”

“What rights does _he_ have, the grandfather, legal ones, I mean?”

“None. All rights belong to the father. If she were legitimate, Boyle could appoint a guardian, such as the grandfather. Even if the child is illegitimate, a man can try to claim legal power to decide her destiny until she is of age. Boyle is named, after all.” His voice dropped to a gritty tone she rarely heard from him anymore. “ _If_ he ever finds her.”

“What if we sent Mrs Boyle a small amount of money to cover her trouble for posting this, and ask her to destroy your letter?”

“I would surmise she has already. And she asked I not contact her again.”

“Yes, I suppose if he ever returned, the last thing she’d want would be for him to bring home his child from another woman. She would never tell him.”

“I agree.” He walked to the window and gazed out, his hands on his hips. “I tell you, Charlotte, men such as Boyle can be found in every country and every station, be they a peer or a dock hand.” He scowled more deeply than before, brow furrowed tightly, continuing in a tone laden with contempt. “Boyle could show up on our doorstep with a legal claim to take her and do whatever he wished, even sell her to a brothel for all we would know. By the time I achieved any legal remedy, if one were possible, he would be long gone and so would she.”

“What about the grandfather? Do we contact him?”

He snapped his head back to look at her. “For what? To remember her in his will? Do you forget he disowned his daughter?”

“Perhaps he _would_ remember her in his will. Mrs Boyle said he was wretched. Does he even know his daughter has passed? What if your solicitor contacts him, without mention of us, simply to inform him that his daughter is dead and his granddaughter is cared for? He has no other children. His wife is...”

He interrupted, nearly barking at her. “Please do not tell me you want to give her to him.” He turned and stared out the window again.

“Of course not! She stays here with us.” She went to him, stroked his upper arm, speaking softly. She knew well how to soothe him when he felt this way. “He is a wealthy man. If she has a legacy she is entitled to, why not seek it out, just as you did retrieving her mother’s jewelry.”

He caught himself. “Forgive me, my love," he sighed as he turned to her, encircling her waist as she placed her palms on his chest. "Even if the chances are next to nothing he would ever find her, or want to find her, they still exist, and it infuriates me.”

“We are both upset.” She toyed with the buttons on his waistcoat. “Is there truly no legal recourse for us? You cannot go to chancery court to have her named your ward because he deserted her and her mother?”

“Why should we tempt fate? The law no longer requires fathers of illegitimate children support them. He could claim he did not know and has come to make good. I imagine she named him as the father because she truly believed he was coming to her.”

“We have the letters.”

“True, but he could make countless excuses. He is the _named_ father. It could be opening Pandora’s box to seek guardianship. Some overzealous magistrate could force us to search the entire country for the cur. Better to keep her safe with us until she is of age, or we hear he is dead, in which case I will petition for guardianship.”

“There were no papers in Miss Dougherty’s belongings about what should happen to Imogen in the event of her death?”

“I don’t remember seeing any, do you? There were no baptismal or christening records, either. And there is no such thing as maternal rights, I am ashamed to say, which is precisely why I have taken such care regarding you and the children should something happen to me. So you are protected. No one can take the children or the assets from you.”

She put her head on his chest. “Not something I wish to think about.”

“Nor I, but I had to. And it was long ago settled.” He kissed her forehead. “I will need to add Imogen, to provide for her along with all of you in such an event, the only legal protection I can give her right now. I will ask for advice about contacting the grandfather as you have suggested.”

She nodded. “I suppose we tell her we simply cannot find her father.”

“It is true, we cannot find him. And I know she will be happy to remain here.”

“She will be.”

“Shall we tell her together then?”

“Aaron has her out with the puppy right now. Later, I think.” She punctuated the change of discussion with a long, seductive kiss. “Any other exciting news in the post?”

“Ah, I forgot. Something from young Conrad. A courtesy note no doubt. And yet another for Amelia from Wilhelm. The rest all business correspondence.”

“I do like that young man.”

“Which one?” he said with eyebrows raised, leaning back but pulling her hips to his.

“Well, both. But I admit I perhaps lean more in the direction of John, simply because I know him better. Wilhelm is somewhat of a mystery.”

“Their world is so very different from ours, and we rarely see them. The count had been remarried nearly a year before we heard.”

“I wonder what old Mr Campion would think if he knew his money funded the lavish life of a dashing continental nobleman.”

He shrugged and pulled her tighter to him. “You may think me callous, but I rarely reflect on it, _any_ of it – Eliza, the miserable engagement… either engagement for that matter. It all seems to have happened to another man in another life. I think far more about my time in Antigua than I ever do about Eliza. My true life began when I met you.”

She caressed his nose with hers. “And what do you call the twenty-seven and a half years before you met me?”

A wry expression came to him, and he closed his eyes as she continued to his lips in feather light kisses. “Preparation.”

She leaned back, her hands resting on his shoulders. “Was I so challenging you required preparation to marry me?”

“Challenging?” he scoffed dramatically. “ _Maddeningly_ so. It became quite clear that only a true and brave heart could win yours. It required a great deal of practice to finally shoot the arrow through all those axe handles.”

Slowly she slipped her fingers up his neck and into his hair as she said, “Don’t doubt yourself. You were and are more than equal to any man, even Odysseus.”

“I’m certain I have heard similar words.” The slightest smile touched the corners of his mouth.

“They were told to a farmer’s daughter dressed in a borrowed gown at her first London ball.”

“Borrowed or not, my heart stopped when you came down the stairs.”

“And I thought you were displeased,” she flirted, pouting.

He huffed out a little laugh and leaned his forehead against hers. “I’ve told you many times, my coquette, it was all I could do not to _ravish_ you right there.”

“In front of Tom?” she teased.

“Knowing Tom he would have said, _Hurry please, we need to get on with the promotion of Sanditon.”_

“Sidney!” But she laughed along with him.

###

Aaron and Imogen took turns tossing the stick for Rascal, commanding him to sit each time he brought it back. When the puppy tired of fetching, the three of them tussled in the grass, giggling and yipping. Sidney and Charlotte stepped out to the terrace, watching in amusement for a moment before calling to Imogen. She ran to them, her face flushed with laughter, eyes wide not with astonishment or fear, but joy. Tendrils of hair had escaped her plait, and dirty paw prints decorated her dress here and there. Sidney lifted her up and she threw her arms about his neck, giggles turning to quiet smiles as she rested against him.

“We have something to tell you,” Charlotte said.

Sidney placed the child back on her feet, and he and Charlotte seated themselves with Imogen before them. “You remember,” he said, “I wrote to the last address I had for the man recorded on your birth certificate.” He could not bring himself to call Boyle her father.

Imogen nodded, her expression becoming pensive.

“We received a letter from the person who resides at that address. She has not seen the man for a year and does not know where he is. So in short, we cannot find him.”

As he spoke, Imogen looked from Sidney to Charlotte, fear creeping back into her eyes. Before either could continue, she asked in a small but clear voice, “Will you send me away now?”

“No, no!” Charlotte exclaimed, reaching for the girl, drawing her close. “Never. You may stay with us as long as you wish.”

“Do you wish that, Imogen?” Sidney asked, “To live here with us?”

Aaron had come up onto the terrace to join the conversation, hearing only his father’s last question. “Of course, Imogen, you want to live with us, do you not? You must be here for my fifth birthday next week. You cannot leave.” He turned to his father, his face skewed in apprehension. “Papa, is she going away?”

His father put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let her answer, Aaron.”

Charlotte looked at Imogen, her arm firmly around the girl’s waist. “What do you think?” she asked her.

Imogen studied the three of them, her expression guarded save a quivering lower lip. “You will not send me away?”

“No, we will never send you away,” Charlotte said softly. “Will you stay with us?”

Rascal, feeling quite left out, decided to join them, and dropping his stick in front of Imogen, he sat without being told.

“See there,” said Aaron, “even Rascal is asking.”

As the color returned to her cheeks, a look of trust came to her eyes and a small smile to her lips. She nodded in agreement.

Charlotte kissed her soundly on the cheek. “There,” she said, “our sincerity proven with a kiss. You are a part of the Parker family as long as you wish.”

Imogen folded into Charlotte and nearly in a whisper asked, “Do I still call you Mrs Parker?”

“Hmm,” said Charlotte, rocking gently back and forth. “Let me think. You have a mama, and you must _never_ forget her. So what if you call me Auntie, and Mr Parker, Uncle?” She looked at her husband to see if he agreed.

“I believe it a good solution.” He smiled and tilted his head, eyebrows up, soliciting an answer from the child. “What do you think, Imogen? Auntie and Uncle?”

“Yes… Uncle,” she said, and suddenly consumed with giggles of relief, she clapped her hands in delight, to which Rascal responded with barking.

“Come,” said Aaron, grabbing hold of her hand, “we must tell the others you are to stay for good.” The two of them galloped off, puppy in pursuit.

Sidney looked at Charlotte, the joy on his face shifting to unease as soon as the children were out of sight. “I hope to God that man never darkens our door.”

**The Fifteenth of September, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Jay left two weeks previously to settle in for the fall term at Winchester. He was unable to attend Maggie’s wedding on the Eighth, to which he made his amends. With so many crowding into the little hamlet of Willingden for the occasion, one fewer person would not spoil the bride’s happiness, nor the groom’s for that matter. Three days of revelry among family and friends came to a close, and it was back home to Sanditon for the Parker family along with Elizabeth Heywood, and Adam’s new pony in tow.

It had been settled between Sidney and Charles that the latter would bring another outstanding Fell pony gelding when the Copelands came to Willingden, to be Adam’s birthday gift from his father and mother. Although the actual day was the fourth of November, Adam did not complain at the earliness, indeed, he found himself in certain heaven with his gift. The Black Prince, a sturdy four year old, had a coal black coat; his lush mane, tail and feathers on his lower legs the same deep black with a slight tinge of brown at the edges. Charles assured Sidney the horse was good tempered, ridden by his three older girls and his five year old son, Alfred, or Alfie for short. Yes, the Copelands had a son, named after his father, Charles Alfred, but to avoid confusion they called him by his second name. As a grown man, he would be known as C. Alfred Copeland, II, a breeder of fine horses as his father had been.

Adam spent hours grooming Prince, who got on well enough with Titan. Sidney had ridden Jack out with Adam and Prince several times already and noted a distinct change in his son’s demeanor, for the better he felt. Some might think he and Charlotte were rewarding Adam for his bad behavior. They did not believe so. In their minds, they were outwitting future behavior, trying to provide the boy with what he needed rather than punish him for what he lacked. The strategy had been successful with Jay, and they had every confidence it would be with Adam.

But the one who seemed to profit in a most collateral way from the entire arrangement was Amelia. Now that Jay was at school and Adam rode Prince, Titan was free for her to ride whenever she wished. He was well accustomed to the ladies saddle, even if Amelia was certain she would always loathe and resent it. Still, riding free along the clifftops, visiting Phoebe or Trafalgar House, simply _riding_ , that marvelous feeling of independence, galloping into the wind along the beach or down the grassy road... The poetry sprung freely in her mind and just as often flew from her in the breeze as the wisps of her hair did. No matter. It was the sheer joy in simply thinking it and then releasing it.

###

The first of the wine shipments would arrive from France the last week of September. And this year, Arthur, Francis, Diana, Isabelle and possibly Étienne would as well. The time for the family’s London stay was nigh. Elizabeth had not yet begun her duties. Her sister insisted she ease into them, and the two girls have time for a rest. Elizabeth felt terribly excited about seeing London and mingling with the Parker family and friends. Everyone spoke about the country being poised on a new era. The old king was not well. A young queen would replace him. It seemed to hold great promise, and Elizabeth, named for a great queen herself, felt captivated by the very idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prior to 1837 when the civil register began, all births were recorded in church documents. Before the 1834 changes to the poor house laws, parishes were allowed by law to demand money from the fathers of illegitimate children to aid in their care. In 1834, it was decided that these laws added to the number of illegitimate children, and therefore changed them, making it the sole responsibility of the mother to care financially for the child, which of course, was usually impossible, leaving the children to toil as apprentices, etc. 
> 
> As Imogen would have been born in 1832, the birth document would not have been a civil certificate, but in a parish document. Plus the parish would have tried to rope Boyle in for some cash, so there would have been that involvement. I decided to skip ahead and make her birth document a civil one, quite simply because it aids the plot.


	68. Back in Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting!

**The Twenty-Seventh of September, 1836**

_London_

The day after their arrival in London, Sidney left for the docks early in the morning, taking Adam with him. Ten puncheons of Boudreau Vineyards wine had arrived, and he would need to oversee its handling. Once it cleared customs and tariffs paid, he had it offloaded from the ship and onto two wagons, then transported and properly situated in his warehouse cellar. The wine in the casks needed a few days to settle and acclimate before the bottling should commence, a yield of over 4000 bottles from those ten puncheons. Another shipment would arrive in the next few days from the two other Var region vineyards he worked with, totaling another fourteen puncheons, plus a load of fresh wine corks. The bottling factory was costly and he found it best to process all the wine at once.

It was not the first time Adam had accompanied his father. He quite enjoyed it, in fact, today especially. He had never noticed before that the men not only respected his father, they gave Adam a hat tip, or finger touch to their brim, a nod. He watched with a new interest how his father spoke to the sailors and the dock hands, always clear and commanding, not harsh or cruel. When all was said and done, his father took him to a nearby tavern where they had steak and kidney pie, Adam being allowed a small glass of ale to wash it down while he listened to stories his father told him about Grandfather Joseph Parker’s shipping business and how it was in the old days before the new commercial docks were built. The River Thames was fitfully congested with ships waiting as long as two weeks to dock and unload, and goods would spoil, and river pirates would raid unsuspecting ships and make off with valuable goods. Many years later, when Adam Sidney Parker was a grown man, he would remember this day, sitting in this tavern, as the day he realized he _did_ have large footsteps to follow in, and it was not a burden. It was an honor.

Sidney was glad for Adam’s company, and more than pleased with how the wine venture had grown. He would finish with a profit of at least 1500 pounds for this short burst of work. Granted, it took a few years of concerted effort to put the whole process in place. But one had to set the wheels in motion to achieve results, something he learned from his father that Tom had not. Patience was required along with an initial investment. Sometimes the situation, like people, had to be jollied.

He had built a reputation for a quality product. It did not happen overnight, but now he reaped the rewards. Save for what he kept for himself, friends and family, all the bottles were sold before the wine even arrived. It would have taken him twenty or more individual shipments of other goods and all the accompanying work to equal the profit he made with the wine venture. Now he was down to a maximum of fifteen import/export shipments a year. Along with dividends and excellent returns he made on his investments, he was quite pleased with where he stood financially at this point in his life. His friend, Étienne, sold his wine for a profit. The distributors had a sought after product they could command a good price for. The bottle manufacturer had a reliable annual order. His family could come with him to London while it all transpired. Simply put, he was a contented man, living a respectable life, and he did his best to share his good fortune.

###

For Charlotte, the annual autumnal sojourn in London was the perfect time for shopping and visiting and doing all the things they could not do while in Sanditon. Truly, she believed, they had the best of both worlds. And with the French family contingent arriving tomorrow, the mood was bright and happy, full of anticipation. Winchester had an upcoming exeat that timed perfectly with Jay’s sixteenth birthday. He would travel to London on Thursday with a school friend, then stay an extra day, leaving with Roland the following Tuesday in the Parker carriage. 

Sidney had written ahead to the housekeeper, Mrs Randolph, as was his way, with the details of their stay. He took particular care to instruct her regarding Imogen. The child was now part of the family and should be addressed and treated accordingly by all the staff. He cautioned Mrs Randolph against providing any information to outsiders about the girl, hoping to keep her out of public eye and harm’s way.

Imogen appeared pensive when the family arrived in London at Bedford Place, and not unexpectedly. Memories flooded back to her, the cruelty of Mrs Peters, learning of her mother’s death, hearing her fate as an orphan discussed by the Bedford Place servants before tall, kindly Mr Parker came and rescued her. Justine and Aaron did not allow her mood to remain for long. They whisked her off to the secret place where children could let imaginations run wild, a room on the top floor filled with treasures only a child could love. Trunks stuffed with outdated, outgrown clothing, hats and boots from other eras, feathers and trinkets. Unused furniture, old puzzles and games, boxes of paraphernalia from Grandfather and Grandmother Parker’s time.

With Sidney and Adam gone for the day, Charlotte thought it the perfect opportunity to take Amelia and do a bit of gift shopping. She and Sidney were pared down to a gift for birthdays, their anniversary, and one or two for Christmas. He would have given her gifts continuously if she had not put an end to it. She had more jewelry than she could ever wear, so she convinced him thrice a year between the two of them was enough. He was not happy, but he complied, simply spoiling the children even more than before.

She thought perhaps a bauble or stickpin for his cravat, a new fashion in London, would be the perfect gift for his forty-fifth birthday, and decided to see what he had in the enameled wooden box he kept at Bedford Place that held dress buttons, and shoe buckles, and extra fobs. She knew what he had back home. They did not have dressing rooms in London as they did in Sanditon, fastidiously kept by valet and lady’s maid. Tom and Mary occupied the Bedford Place master chamber. She and Sidney used the room that was his from childhood. When they married, he had moved in a small dressing table and an extra armoire with drawers inside for her. It crowded the room, but they had always spent most of their time in bed anyway, whenever in their chamber. They kept only a small amount of clothing in London, Sidney more than she as he spent far more time there with his business. Finding the enameled box in the back of his drawer, she brought it out. She was not certain she had ever looked in it more than a passing glance. At home, she would console herself in his absence by spending time in his dressing room, breathing in the scent of him in his cravat drawer or stroking his favorite waistcoats, as if he were in them. Since they were married, she had never been in London without him.

What caught her eye, buried in the back of the box, carefully folded and tied with a piece of ribbon, was one of his old handkerchiefs. He had a set of them when she first met him, a gift from Diana made of fine India muslin, and in the corner were his initials in deep blue thread, embroidered by his sister. The rest had long ago worn out and found their way to the rag pile. She wondered if he had kept the one in sentiment. She untied the ribbon and unfolded the square. At first she thought nothing was inside, but then she saw three long strands of brown curly hair. Hers? They looked like hers. Or Amelia’s. They certainly were not Eliza’s. Nor Diana’s. Nor his mother’s as far as she could tell from the two existing portraits she had seen. _How curious,_ she thought. She would have to ask him about it tonight.

Elizabeth expressed her disappointment at being left behind with the younger children, but Charlotte assured her there would be many shopping trips in her future. Today Charlotte wished to be alone with her eldest daughter. She and Amelia clipped across the city in one of the new Hansom cabs for hire, heading first for The Temple of the Muses, Lackington Allen & Co’s massive bookstore at Finsbury Square. Mother and daughter could easily pass the entire day there, but another stop was necessary, so they contented themselves with no more than two hours of browsing, the goal being a birthday gift for Jay. At home in Sanditon, they made use of the lending library, but a special book or two was always on the list of gifts.

After they separated for a time, Charlotte discovered her daughter immersed in a volume titled, _Narrative of a Journey Overland from England to India,_ written by woman named Anne Katharine Elwood. Of course, such a book would satisfy not only her daughter’s interest in travel writing by women, but her newfound fascination with India.

“Would you like it? An early Christmas gift?” Charlotte asked.

“It’s two volumes…” said Amelia.

“Well, we can purchase the first, then perhaps you can ask for the second through the library. Here, I’ve found this for Jay, what do you think?” She held up _Paracelsus_ by Robert Browning for Amelia’s inspection. “Shall we get them both?”

They rode again in a cab to Ludgate Hill, and Rundell and Bridge, jewelers to the crown. Charlotte was certain they would have what she wanted. She tested the water with her daughter.

“I know of your interest in writing about travel, but your new attention to India. Is it due to a certain young gentleman?”

“Oh, Mama,” Amelia groaned.

Undaunted, she continued. “Your father is convinced young Mr Conrad is quite taken with you. I, of course, reminded him you are still very young and perhaps not in any hurry to fall in love. Are you?”

“In _love?”_

“Or in a hurry to fall…”

“How can you ask me such a question?”

“Quite easily. We have never intruded on your friendship with Wilhelm, although we both wonder what the boy writes about so often. Mr Conrad, is different. He is not only Jay’s friend, he is rather nearby. And he does appear most impressed with you. He has already written you twice.”

“Are you keeping tally?”

“Your father is.”

“Hmph.”

“That is not an answer to my simple question, Amelia.”

“Very well, then, I admit I like him. I find him interesting, and his background… well, different and intriguing.”

“And he is very handsome...”

“Yes.”

“How do you compare him with Wilhelm?”

“In looks?”

“I suppose that, too, but I meant in your feelings.”

She sighed and looked away from her mother. “Must we go into that now?”

“We have ten minutes until our destination. No one can hear us. So yes, we must. What does Wilhelm write to you?”

She supposed there was no reason to continue to hide it. “Of late, he writes love letters.”

Her mother paused a moment, then said, “Does he? What do they say, exactly?”

She sighed again. “Poetry… rather bad poetry of his own and quotes from real poets. He claims we are destined to be together.” She found unburdening herself strangely gratifying.

“Why?”

“Because of the way we happened to meet on the steamer, and the connection between our families.”

“What connection does he speak of?” She and Sidney had never discussed with any of the children his past with Eliza. They felt no need to. All that was ever spoken of was eighteen year old Sidney Parker’s brief engagement before Antigua.

“He says Papa and his mother knew each other, the same as you have said, but he seems to believe there was more to it. It makes no difference to me, as I have no romantic feelings for him, and I have asked him repeatedly to stop sending me those letters. I have all but stopped responding to him.”

Charlotte took a deep breath. Perhaps the time had come. She started in measured tones. “In truth, it was she to whom your Papa was engaged, briefly, when they were both eighteen. He met her during her first Season, when he was not much older than Jay is now, fresh out of Winchester, working in his father’s business. As he had nothing of his own then, they had planned a long engagement, but an old and extremely wealthy gentleman proposed to her, so she broke with your father and married the old man. Shortly after Papa left for Antigua.”

“But Papa and you knew Wilhelm’s father.”

“Yes, we met him before your father and I married. She was a widow by then, recently out of mourning, Mrs Eliza Campion, the wealthiest widow in the country, still young and beautiful. She could have had any man, but she set her sights on your father for a second time.”

“But were you not engaged to him?”

“Not yet. We had an understanding of sorts, though, and he told her so, that he loved me, not her. But before he could propose to me, the fire happened, and your Uncle Tom was facing financial ruin.”

“No insurance.”

“Yes, that is correct. He was headed to the poor house as we’ve told you before. Your father tried to find funding for him, but no bank would do business with Tom anymore. So he asked Mrs Campion for an investment as a last resort. She agreed, but only if he marry her.”

“If _Papa_ marry her.”

“Yes. They were engaged for two months. It was purely a business arrangement on his part.”

“You must have been devastated.”

“We both were. Ah, I see we are almost at the jewelers. So, as it happened, Uncle Arthur and Aunt Diana met Uncle Francis. He arranged for Mrs Campion to meet his old friend, Count Mendorff. She fell in love with him and released Papa from his obligation. We married the next month. Francis formed the investment company that saved Uncle Tom from ruin. Your father invested in and managed the company for years, from beginning to end.”

Amelia sat open mouthed. “Is that the truth, Mama?”

Charlotte looked askance at her daughter. “Of course. We were as shocked as the count was to see him board the ship way back then, as we had not seen or heard from him. We learned from Francis that Eliza had died giving birth to Hannelore. Ah, we are here.” She patted her daughter’s knee and gave her a firm look. “The discussion of Mr Conrad will continue on the way home.”

The cab came to a stop and the driver helped the ladies down. Of course, they knew Mrs Sidney Parker at Rundell and Bridge, as Mr Sidney Parker was a frequent customer. Out came a lovely selection of stickpins, and there in the second row was the perfect one. A rectangular hardstone cameo carved from banded sardonyx, with black underlay, and atop in pure white stone, the head of Poseidon, his trident behind him. The finely tooled surround was gold, as was the pin, with a small clutch to keep it fastened. She asked to have his initials engraved on the back, _SEP_ , and the year, to be delivered when completed.

Back in the cab she said, “I think that was the easiest purchase I have ever made for Papa. And it is simply perfect.”

“Why Poseidon?”

“Oh…” She adjusted her gloves, stalling a little. “I used to call him so as a tease about how fond he is of sea bathing.”

Amelia seemed satisfied and moved to the next question. “Why does Papa dislike his middle name?”

“I don’t know. He does not like the way it sounds, he says.”

“But it is a beautiful name, and not unpopular. It means beloved in Greek.”

“Yes, I know, but Sidney _Erasmus_ Parker does not appeal to him. One of the only times I have heard him say it was in our wedding vows. That is a question you should ask him. But now, before we get home, Mr Conrad, please. ”

“Oh, Mama…”

“I will not take _Oh, Mama_ for an answer. You say you are not fond of Wilhelm in a romantic way, what about John Conrad?”

Amelia thought of her hand in his and felt a blush come up. “Yes, I do like him, as a _boy_ , not just as a friend. But he does not write love letters. In fact the last was all about a trip he and his father made to Manchester to see the Rocket engine on the Liverpool Manchester Railway. He is quite enthralled with the locomotive.”

“Yes, I recall when he visited, he spoke of his interest in steam engines and transportation.”

“And you need not worry, Mama, I have no intention of marrying young, if I marry at all.”

“Oh, I am sure you will marry someday. I had no such intentions either until Mr Sidney Parker rode into my life and called me a maid.”

Amelia chuckled. “I still cannot believe he said that to you.”

“He did.”

After a long pause, Amelia asked in a soft voice, “How will I know when it _is_ love, Mama?”

She sighed and took Amelia’s hand. “I once asked your Aunt Mary something similar. She said, _Oh I think one just knows._ But for me… it was the moment I knew when his heart stops beating, so, too, will mine.”

Amelia looked out the window, almost embarrassed at the intimacy of her mother’s words. “That is poetry, Mama.”

“You think so?” She kissed her daughter’s hand. “You have a lovely, promising life ahead of you. Papa and I are confident you have a good head on your shoulders. You will do well, I know.”

###

The dinner table conversation leapt back and forth between Adam’s lively account of the day and Justine’s longing to see Isabelle. Aaron had a word in edgewise about a few strange and hilarious things found in the storage. Imogen took everything in, her large green eyes wide and alert. Amelia and Elizabeth engaged quietly about the books purchased today.

When dinner was finished and everyone had retired, Mr and Mrs Parker had a quiet nightcap in the study, where he told her of his day with Adam and she told him of hers with Amelia. And once in their room, after sending valet and maid to their own devices, they settled into the bed in their home away from home.

She often thought the endless variations in their physical love was key to the satisfaction they felt with their life. They could be passionate and rough, he could submit entirely to her or she to him, they could banter and laugh and wrestle. But tonight, he was in her favorite mood, one she would have every night if it would not be the equivalent of eating nothing but sweets. Tender, gentle, whispering his love, his hands, his mouth, all taking control of her, moving until she was intoxicated with him, floating, mindful only of the two of them. The walls could tumble down around them and she was not sure she would notice or care. When they were quenched, blissful, his head on one breast, his hand cupped over the other, she stroked his back, luxuriating in the glow. Then she remembered the handkerchief.

“Sidney?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t ask why because it has to do with your birthday, but today in your fob box I found one of your very old handkerchiefs.”

A small noise escaped him, half laugh, half exclamation. “Did you?”

“Is it my hair?”

He tweaked her nipple. “Of course it’s your hair, who else’s would it be?”

“But it’s a very old handkerchief, from before we were married.”

“Ah, Charlotte,” he said, rolling onto his back and opening his arm so she could come to rest against him. “It’s my talisman.”

She snuggled up against him, her head on his shoulder. “Tell me.”

He sighed and laughed softly. “Tell you… Well, I had said goodbye to you after running down Tom’s carriage. I went to Trafalgar House and no one was there. Do you remember?”

“You went into my room.”

“I did. And on your pillow were those strands of hair, which I put in that handkerchief. My mourning locket. I kept it with me all the way back to London, inside my shirt against my heart, desperately trying to figure out a solution to help Tom, free myself from Eliza, and win you back. And when I arrived here, Arthur and Diana had just returned, flush with having met Francis and full of hope they had found the solution. The Deus ex machina I kept thinking would be the only thing that could save me… save _us_. And there it was. That night when I went to bed and took it from my shirt, I thought it was not a mourning locket, but my talisman. It has been in that box ever since. I always thought you must have found it before.”

“No. Never. But you keep it here?”

“Most of the time when I am here, you are not. I told you, it’s my talisman. My magic charm.”

“Just when I think I know everything about you... How sentimental and romantic… and I never knew.”

“At least I’m not dull.”

“No, if there is one thing you are not, it is dull.”

“I am looking forward to seeing them tomorrow.”

“Yes, I am, too. We all are.”

“So my birthday, eh? Shall I guess?”

“You will never guess correctly. I have you this time.”

“No doubt you paid with your pin money so I cannot trace it.”

“No doubt.”

“Clever wench.”

“At least I’m not dull.”

“Now I’ll never hear the end of it, will I?”

She lifted herself up and kissed him. “Put out the light.”


	69. Arrivals and Improper Behavior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you noted, Sidney's talisman, the handkerchief, goes all the way back to the first chapter of The Brothers. I take the opportunity to say, if you have not read the first work, make a little time to do so, as so many of the symbols and motifs started there. It isn't too long, and is relatively angst-free. 
> 
> Thank you, always, for your continued love and support.

**The Twenty-Eighth of September, 1836**

_London_

Arthur Parker stood contentedly at the railing of the packet steamer that inched up the River Thames to St Katherine’s docks. At his side stood Sir Francis Gilbert, next to him was Lady Diana Gilbert, with Isabelle Gilbert between Diana and Étienne Boudreau. Two years had passed since they set foot on English soil.

A week ago, Sidney and Charlotte had celebrated their seventeenth wedding anniversary. Those few hectic and heady weeks in the late summer of 1819 that culminated in their wedding marked the beginning of his true life, the emergence of the real Arthur Parker. Shortly after came the marriage of Francis and Diana and the exodus to France. The first two years they lived in Paris, in a huge and opulent apartment on the Place des Vosges, the former dwelling of a nobleman who had either fled or lost his head, they never did discover his fate. Miraculously, the place had not suffered much in the decades of tumult, even the gilt moldings had remained untouched. In the beginning, they had been dependent on Francis’s passable command of the language until Arthur and Diana took lessons to converse and read. Now, of course, all three of them spoke nearly as natives, and Isabelle… she floated effortlessly in both languages as a cloud through the blue sky.

After the first two years in Paris, they returned to England for a year, found it wanting, and left again for France, slowly making their way across the country to finally settle in the obscure and beloved little town in the Var, Saint-Tropez. And while they did come home to England now and then, it was never for too long. Francis purchased the Saint-Tropez manor shortly after “the winter of the babies,” as they called it, with first Isabelle’s, then Justine’s entrance into the world. Having discovered how relatively easy the trip was by packet steamer, Sidney and his family had visited twice more, when Justine was two, and again when Aaron was the same age. That last trip Lady Susan accompanied them. But only once had she visited. She loathed traveling.

The five of them would stay with Susan while in London, as Francis’s townhouse continued to be leased and Bedford Place was near full with Sidney, Charlotte, their children, and Elizabeth Heywood; the possibility of other family members popping in always present. A portion of their time would be spent at Westerly Manor. They hoped to make a visit up north to Cumberland and the Ruthven estate in Scotland. And in Sanditon, they would reside at the Old Parker House, where Isabelle had the company of Justine and Amelia. Étienne, too, was the most comfortable with Sidney and his family. And truthfully, Francis had a bit of trouble with Tom, as the latter would capitalize the entire visit if he could, bending the former’s ear with incessant discussion of the merits of Sanditon. Francis, too well-mannered to request he cease, chose to avoid Tom instead. As much as they all loved Mary and the children, Trafalgar House was not the most tranquil or practical place to stay these days. Tom _was_ better, but he would never be the same man he had been in his youth, a fact everyone, including Mary, had come to accept.

###

“Ah, there they are,” said Sidney. He lifted Imogen up so she had a better view. “Do you see the large fellow there, leaning against the railing mid-ship? He is my younger brother, Arthur Parker.”

“Do I call him Mr Parker?” Imogen asked.

“No, I think Uncle Arthur will do, as the other children call him. And next to Arthur is his very best friend, Sir Francis Gilbert.”

“He is a _sir_?”

“Yes, but you call him Uncle Francis.

“They are both very tall, as you are.”

“They are, indeed. The fine lady next to Francis is his wife and my sister, Diana. She is Lady Gilbert, but call her Aunt Diana.”

“And that must be Isabelle! She and Justine are the same age.”

“Yes, only a few months apart, both born in France. And the last is Monsieur Étienne Boudreau, a very dear friend who has a large vineyard near Saint-Tropez.”

“Maasur?”

“Meh _syur_. Mister in French. Eh ti _yen_. Call him Uncle Étienne. Look there, Arthur sees us! Wave.”

“Isabelle!” cried Justine, jumping up and waving, much to the chagrin of her older sister.

“Control yourself, Justine,” Amelia reprimanded, straightening out Justine’s bonnet.

Sidney set Imogen back down and said, “Hold her hand tightly now Aaron.” Aaron happily complied and took hold of Imogen’s hand, raising it up with his in a back and forth wave to the passengers on the ship. In truth, he was only three the last time he saw all of them, and it was a bit difficult to remember much about them.

Sidney slipped his arm about his wife’s waist. She looked up at him, all smiles. “How wonderful to see they all look well.”

“There they are,” said Arthur.

“Where do you see them?” Diana asked.

Arthur pointed. “There. You see, Sidney’s hat stands above the crowd.” Sidney was handsome as ever, thought Arthur, seemingly more so with age, elegantly attired in slim trousers, his frock coat nipped at the waist.

“That must be the orphaned child he’s holding,” she said.

“Imogen, is it not?” said Francis.

“Justine!” cried Isabelle, waving excitedly.

After docking, disembarking, and passport papers checked, the travelers finally greeted the awaiting family, as customs officials inspected the luggage.

Charlotte was the image of fashionable matron in a deep blue walking dress made of fine cotton muslin, with small poofs down the sleeves and ample frippery at the hem of the full bell skirt. About her shoulders draped a light blue cashmere shawl. Her bonnet was the latest style, shaped to the head with long dangling ribbons, framing her lovely face.

Next to Charlotte stood another young woman with the distinct look of the Heywood clan. Must be Elizabeth, Arthur thought, confirmed upon introduction.

While Justine and Isabelle embraced and talked feverishly, the rest of the children surrounded their aunt and uncles. Arthur, still rotund and ruddy, had continued with his long curling hair style, à la mode in the Romantic Era, as was his frilly collared shirt and voluminous cravat tied in a bow. Compared to Arthur, Francis seemed quite thin, almost gaunt, but his clear blue eyes still sparked as they had always done.

Diana called for Isabelle to come greet the others. While the girl bore a clear resemblance to her mother, she had Étienne’s ethereal gray eyes. Diana fluttered about, seeming flustered; Étienne responded by speaking to her softly and touching her arm. He was fifty years old now, as firm in his stature as he was eight years ago when they first met. His face, still bronzed from working in his vineyard, held deeper lines and creases, but they were upturned.

At last the luggage had cleared scrutiny and was being loaded on the carriages Susan had sent. The Parkers promised to see them that evening for dinner, and the travelers headed for Mayfair in the mid-afternoon. Susan swept them all in with her usual soft graciousness, no expense spared in seeing to their comfort. Servants bustled quietly bringing in luggage. The travelers retired to their rooms to change and freshen up.

###

Elizabeth Heywood occupied a seat on one of the settees in Lady Susan’s tastefully opulent sitting room. Charlotte had assured her sister the dinner would be informal, but compared to dinner around the Heywood table, she felt as though she were dining with a queen. Now, Lady Susan, the doyenne of London society, smiled beatifically as Isabelle and Justine provided after dinner entertainment, one of Schubert’s piano duets, Fantasie in F minor, performed flawlessly Elizabeth thought, simply increasing the sense she was an impostor. Her piano skills were most lacking.

Maggie had told her exactly what to expect and how accomplished the two Parker girls were, but in Elizabeth’s mind, Maggie was far superior to her in almost every way, so how much more unqualified was she, Elizabeth, to teach them? And lucky Maggie was whisked off to France within weeks of arriving in Sanditon, something Elizabeth knew would not happen perhaps during her entire stay. All Elizabeth wanted was a chance to meet a man as Maggie had, a chance to marry and leave Willingden. Charlotte was more of a mother or an aunt than she was a sister, fully twenty years her senior. Elizabeth still felt quite put out that she was asked to stay home with the younger children yesterday, even though Charlotte explained her reasoning. And she was being paid extra because of Imogen, increasing the pressure she felt.

After the duet, both girls played separate pieces, then Diana played for a bit of dancing, another of the girls accomplishments that Elizabeth did not fully share. She had no dance master once Maggie left, in fact much of Elizabeth’s education all but ceased at that time. Papa was too tired to school her much in the classics and Mama was caught up with teaching Abigail how to run the household. Elizabeth often fell through the cracks, left to her own devices.

The rest of the group laughed and sang and danced, told tales both familiar and new. Truthfully, she could not complain she was ignored, as everyone went out of their way to include her. It was not their fault she felt like a wallflower.

**The Twenty-Ninth of September, 1836**

_London_

Sidney, Étienne, Adam and Aaron went together that morning for the arrival of the second wine shipment. It was Aaron’s first time at the commercial docks, but Sidney felt confident Adam would assist in keeping a tight rein on his boisterous little brother.

As Jay would not arrive until late afternoon, Charlotte decided to take all the girls over to Burlington Arcade for a few hours, then finish with ices at Gunter’s Tea Shop. The five of them set off in the Berline for Piccadilly. After shopping, they would make the short walk to Berkeley Square and Gunter’s; the driver come for them promptly at 4 o’clock.

It was difficult to determine whose eyes were wider, Elizabeth’s or Imogen’s, as they strolled through the arcade, window shopping and buying here and there, a reticule for Amelia, a silk scarf for Elizabeth, a pair of gloves for both Justine and Imogen. The arcade was ideal for the ladies to wander, clean and well-lit with its own police force on high alert to any unscrupulous behavior.

Shortly before 3 o’clock, they left for Gunter’s, a brief walk of few blocks, arriving during a lull and seated immediately. Charlotte ordered tea for herself and biscuits for the table, while the four girls ordered ices flavored with orange, jasmine and rose flowers. Inexplicably, Charlotte first sensed rather than saw an interaction between Elizabeth and a young man standing at the counter with a friend. When she turned and looked at him straight on, he was in nothing short of a lounge against the counter, head propped up on his hand, grinning at her sister, who giggled and batted her eyelashes.

“Stop it at once,” Charlotte said sharply under her breath, chastising Elizabeth. Then to her further displeasure, the young man came and stood before their table.

“Ladies, good day.” Directly to Elizabeth, he said, “I do believe we were introduced at the Sumter’s ball last week, were we not, Miss…?”

Before Elizabeth could answer Charlotte turned to him. “No, you did not meet her, sir, and I find your approach of our table, not to mention your antics a few moments ago, to be most ungentlemanly. You will kindly leave and not speak to us again.” She looked at Elizabeth, who did not appear contrite. Again under her breath she said, “If you so much as look at him again I will send you back to Willingden tomorrow.”

The other three watched, Amelia concerned, Justine and Imogen confused. Charlotte took her watch from her reticule. Ten to four. She signaled for their bill. “Finish up,” she said. “Time to leave.”

By then, the young man and his friend were gone. When the Berline pulled in front of Gunter’s, Charlotte herded the girls out, the driver assisting them into the carriage. She felt such annoyance at her sister she could not speak all the way home. There in front of Bedford Place was Roland, a smile on his face as her opened the door for them.

“Mrs Parker, I was just seeing to Master Jay; he has arrived.”

After assisting the others out of the carriage and inside, he went down to speak to the driver before the carriage headed off to the mews. Then he noticed a young man emerge from a cab stopped across the street, quickly approaching him.

“I say,” the man said, “could you tell me the name of the family who resides here?”

Perhaps another servant would have replied without thinking, but not Roland, Mr Parker’s right hand man. He pulled himself up to his full height and said, “Who is inquiring?”

“Ah, I was just introduced to the ladies and have forgotten their family name, if you could provide it.”

Roland sized him up. Mr Parker would not take kindly to some young buck sniffing around after his wife and daughters. “Seems to me,” he said dryly, “if you’d been introduced, you would know the name. The master of this house is most protective of his family. You’ll get no information from me, sir.”

Like clockwork, the Parker chariot pulled up in front with Sidney and the boys. Aaron, needing no one to open the door for him, bolted out, quickly followed by Adam, and after Sidney, who assessed the situation immediately after seeing Roland’s expression.

“Sir, this man would like a word,” said Roland.

“Oh?” He looked the man up and down, and then back to Roland. “See to the boys, would you?” Focusing squarely on the nattily dressed young man before him, he asked, “And what may I do for you?”

The fellow stammered a bit, taken off guard. “I… I simply inquired as to the name of the family who resides here.”

“For what purpose? I do not believe I know you.”

Roland emerged from the house and stood on the doorstep, his feet placed apart, hands crossed in front of him.

“Ah, forgive me. I am Oscar Hatton, the third son of Lord Radclyffe.”

“The purpose of your inquiry, Mr Hatton?”

“I thought I had been introduced to one of the ladies having refreshments at Gunter’s Tea Shop.”

“At the tea shop?”

“No, at a ball last week.”

“That would be impossible, we were not here last week, nor have we attended any balls in London recently. So no introductions have been made, is that correct?”

“Well, yes.”

“But you _followed_ my wife and daughters here anyway?”

“I… I thought if I knew the name I could find a way to arrange an introduction.”

Sidney lowered his chin and narrowed his eyes. It was an aggressive gesture, he knew, but he did not care for this peacock, clearly soft and pampered, who no doubt spent much of his time at the gaming tables and worse. “An introduction to whom?”

“The young woman, I suppose your eldest daughter, _sir_.”

Sidney assumed he referred to Elizabeth, not Amelia. He paused a moment, appraising. “I do not approve of your conduct, Mr Hatton, not any of it. And as I have not yet spoken to my wife about what transpired today, I am _advising_ you to stay away from my family. Have I made myself clear?”

“Indeed you have, Mr…?”

“Parker. Sidney Parker. Good day.” He turned and headed for his front door, which Roland immediately opened. Once Sidney was inside, Roland entered, turned and gave Mr Hatton one last watchful look before shutting the door.

“What did he say to you?” Sidney asked as Roland helped him off with his coat.

“Mrs Parker’s carriage had just arrived. The fellow there, he was in a cab across the street, came over and said that he was introduced to the ladies but forgot the name. I said he would not get any information from me.”

“Good man.”

As soon as they were inside, before she had even seen Jay, Charlotte took Elizabeth into Sidney’s study and closed the door. “Sit please,” she said, but continued to stand herself, pacing.

“What on earth possessed you? Have you no sense of propriety? Do you not realize that your duties include setting a good example for three impressionable young girls? How can I ever trust you to take them out on your own, when the very first time we go to a simple confectioners shop you make a complete spectacle of yourself.”

“Sister, I am sorry, truly.”

“Sorry? What were you _thinking_ , Elizabeth?”

“I saw no harm…”

“No harm? Shamelessly flirting in a very public place with a strange man, all in the presence of my daughters, the very girls we pay you to care for and instruct? This position is nothing short of a gift to you. It certainly was for Maggie. You have nothing, Elizabeth, no dowry to speak of, no prospects. All you have is your reputation. If you wish to drag that into the gutter, I will release you from our employ. I will not allow you to sully my daughters’ or my family’s reputation. Maggie has nothing but good sense. Where is yours?”

“Of course, Maggie is perfect. My apologies I am not.”

She looked in disbelief at her youngest sibling. “I will discuss this with Sidney, but I think we will leave you in Willingden when we return to Sanditon. The rest of your things we will send back later.”

Elizabeth stood, flushed and distressed. “No Charlotte, give me another chance, please. I will do better, I promise. I do not know what came over me.”

A knock upon the door announced Sidney’s entrance. Before him he saw an incensed Charlotte and panicked Elizabeth. “No doubt this has to do with the young man I just shooed away. It seems he followed your carriage home from Gunter’s.”

Charlotte’s mouth dropped open and Elizabeth’s eyes popped. “Do you see now?” Charlotte snapped. “This is what your behavior has brought. Like a stray dog, following us home. Now he knows where we live.”

“I hope he won’t be round again,” said Sidney, “but I cannot be certain. Elizabeth, could you leave us now? Charlotte and I need to speak privately.”

She seemed glad to have an excuse to escape her sister’s wrath. Once the door was closed, Sidney took his wife in his arms. “What on earth happened?”

She huffed, then shook her head. “We went to Burlington Arcade… she made such a fuss Tuesday that I left her here and took Amelia; I felt we should all do something together. The arcade is clean and safe, seemed a good choice. We made the short walk to Gunter’s and were having our refreshments when she began flirting brazenly with a young dandy at the counter. He was awful, Sidney, practically laying atop it, grinning and ogling her. She was giggling and flirting back. I told her to stop, and then the fool comes to our table, claiming he had been introduced to her at a ball. Well, I cut him short with some harsh words and sent him on his way. They were gone when our carriage came for us.”

“No doubt he’d flagged down a cab and waited for you to leave so he could follow. Oscar Hatton, third son of Lord someone… Radclyffe, Lord Radclyffe. He tried to get our name from Roland, who refused. Then I arrived and he gave me the same story, about an introduction at a ball.”

“She is not contrite and said she saw no harm in what she did.”

“She looked rather upset when I came in.”

“Because I told her she is going back to Willingden.”

“Is that what you want to do, truly? I grant you, I did not care for the young man or his behavior, not at all. But could it be she simply did not know better?”

“If she did not, she is not fit to teach our girls, as _they_ know better. And Amelia has already told me Elizabeth does not appear to have the academic knowledge Maggie does.”

He sighed and pulled her close, resting his head on hers. “It will be devastating to John and Agnes, you know, for us to send her home.”

“But even more so if she ruins her reputation and sullies ours. She asked for another chance. It almost feels like charity to have her here. She has not Maggie’s skill or temperament, and we’re paying her even more. I do not know what to do, Sidney. I wish Maggie were here to confide in, but she is blissfully unaware on her honeymoon, as it should be.”

“Well, I believe you are angry, and justly so, but you and I both know making a decision in anger is not the best way. So shall we sit it out for a day or two, let tempers cool. I will make some inquiries about this Mr Hatton, as I have no doubt he will be doing about me.”

“He knows your name?”

“I told him of course. He believes she’s our daughter, which is fine. Let him think me a dangerous father.”

She all but collapsed into him. “I have not seen Jay yet.”

“Nor have I. Our first born turns sixteen tomorrow, Mrs Parker. Shall we go see him?”

“Kiss me first.”

He did.

###

Oscar Hatton, the third son of Lord Radclyff, was not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner, but this man, Sidney Parker, was quite serious, and Oscar could see by the size of his chest and arms he was not a man to be trifled with at that moment. Unfortunate, as she was a pretty little thing, reminding him of the gentlemen’s drawings of country girls in compromising positions. Such sweet pink cheeks and luscious lips. He was certain she was all but his. He simply had to find a way around her brute of a father and shrew of a mother. A task he was certain he was up for.


	70. In Only Two Blows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a bit of ground to cover in this one. Thanks as always for reading and commenting. I love the insight I gain from seeing the story through your eyes.

Still **The Twenty-Ninth of September, 1836**

_London_

If the mood at the Parker dinner table seemed glum for a person or two, Jay Parker did not notice. His animated recounting of the new school year and his classes and instructors entertained his siblings and brought smiles to his parents. Aaron chimed in with stories of his first day at the docks, echoed by Adam and Jay with their own memories. With all the merriment of the three boys, the girls’ day, ending with the incident at Gunter’s, remained unmentioned.

Justine and Amelia’s private conversation regarding what transpired consisted largely of the elder warning the younger of the dangers of impropriety. Taking her own advice, Amelia promptly informed her father that Jay had brought her a letter from John Conrad. “For your tally, Papa,” she said with the slightest smirk.

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “That’s my girl. You would never attempt to fool your old father.”

“I am shrewd enough to know I could not,” she answered back with her own kiss to his cheek.

With two families sharing the use of Bedford Place, quarters were somewhat cramped, as the married couples, now including Alicia and Frederick, kept permanent rooms, and others were kept open for guests. Amelia and Justine shared a room, as did Adam and Jay, when he was there, Aaron when he was not. With Jay back from school, Aaron and Imogen were both in the nursery, and Elizabeth, as Maggie and Nanny Grey had before her, occupied the small chamber adjacent. 

Amelia lay awake, turning the events of the day over and over in her mind. Justine had no such concerns and was fast asleep. Amelia crept out of her bed, into her dressing gown and slippers, and out into the dark, quiet hall. There was light under her parents’ door and soft voices inside, Papa’s deep tones punctuated by Mama’s higher ones. She felt certain she knew what they were discussing and who was prevailing. She had not brought a candle, fearing she would wake Justine, but in fact she did not need one, as she could navigate the hallways of Bedford Place with her eyes closed, just as she could the Old Parker House. She stole into the nursery, where the two little ones slept soundly, and on to the nanny room, a sliver of light glowing beneath the door. She knocked softly.

After a moment or two, the door opened a crack as Elizabeth peered out. “Amelia,” she whispered with surprise, “is anything wrong?”

“No, I could not sleep and thought perhaps you could not either. May I come in?”

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly opened the door. Amelia saw she had been writing a letter. “May I sit?” she asked, motioning to the bed.

Elizabeth shrugged an approval and went to the small writing table, covering her letter. “If you’ve come to lecture me, you can save your breath. My sister has already done so.”

“I did not come for that, although I will admit I have rarely seen my mother as angry as she was today. You struck a sensitive spot, you know.”

“I gathered. She’s sending me back to Willingden.”

“Why do you think so?”

“She told me.”

“Well, she and Papa are discussing it at this moment I imagine. He will calm her just as she calms him. I doubt your return to Willingden will be the final outcome.”

Elizabeth sank down beside her. “I am not Maggie, you know.”

“I do know. I wonder how I can help.”

“Help? I am the one who is tasked to educate you, not the reverse.”

“Tell me what you thought of that man today.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what were your thoughts about him? Did you find him handsome for instance?”

“I did. He was most elegantly dressed.”

“So you assumed he was rich?”

“I suppose.”

“Have you seen other men conduct themselves in such a manner towards a lady?”

“Now you are lecturing me.”

“I am not. I wish to clarify why Mama was so angry. Do you often see gentlemen approach a table of ladies, unintroduced, and attempt to speak with them? Do you often see gentlemen make suggestive overtures in a public place towards a young lady, especially one they do not know? I will answer my own questions. No such event will occur unless the men are lacking manners and morals.”

“You do not know the man, you have no right to make such a statement.”

“I have every right. An honorable, well-mannered man, a _gentleman_ , would not behave towards a lady in such a way that could taint her reputation. It simply is not done unless the man is after one certain thing, and I am confident you know to what I refer. His actions suggested you were a type of woman whom ladies do not associate with. He disrespected not only you, but the rest of us as well. That was why Mama was so incensed, not just for her sister, but for her daughters.”

“And how should I have responded, pray?”

“Ignored him. Utterly and completely, as if he did not exist. Not one look. No acknowledgement.” She paused observing her aunt’s dubious expression. “Have you ever read the novel called _Pride and Prejudice,_ now attributed to Miss Jane Austen?”

“I am sorry to say I have not. In truth Amelia, I do not care to read all that much.”

“But you and I discussed the Browning book Mama bought for Jay.”

“No, you discussed. I simply asked questions.”

“Quite unusual for a Heywood not to enjoy reading.”

“Yes, perhaps being the last of twelve, the desire had run its course by the time I arrived.”

“We have the novel back home and you should read it when we return. I insist. It’s an older printing without Austen’s name as author, but the story is the same. It involves five sisters. The youngest, Lydia, is quite foolish, much to the dismay of her older sisters. She is an appalling flirt, especially with the militia officers who are stationed nearby. She ends up running away with one of them, a man who is very handsome and charming but in fact most immoral and wicked. I will not say more to avoid ruining the story, but I guarantee the man in Gunter’s is the same sort, conceited and dishonorable.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “How do you know? You are not yet fourteen.”

“I know because my mother and Susan have instructed me in these matters. And I have a cousin in Paris who has… explained. I have read everything from the Greek poets to ladies’ novels to William Hazlitt essays. And I listen and pay attention. Do you think Maggie was perfect when she first came?”

“Maggie is always perfect.”

“No one is perfect. She was terribly out of sorts when she first arrived. And almost immediately we left for France with Lady Susan.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I noticed you were not comfortable with Susan. You have nothing to fear. She is the kindest person you could ever know… well, except perhaps for Uncle Arthur. Maggie was also frightened of Susan at first. I might have been only eleven, but I already had been twice to France and was quite fluent in the language. Maggie spoke no French and had scarcely been out of Willingden. She was only eighteen, a year younger than you are now. What Maggie did was listen and observe. She worked diligently to learn French, passably so at least. But most importantly, she admitted she did not have knowledge of many subjects. She was well read, however, a habit I hope you will learn to embrace. So we came to an approach in our studies. We would decide what subject we wished to acquire, and we would learn together. Do you understand my meaning?”

“What do you propose?”

“For one, we do exactly the same. But more importantly now, you must assure Mama that you will not bring shame to yourself and the family. Your conduct today brought out the she-bear with cubs. If we are threatened, our mother will act, swift and absolute. You want her on your side, not against you”

Elizabeth sighed and dropped back onto the bed. “I hardly know her, nor Alison. I was two when she married and then Alison married six months later. I do not remember when Tom Parker’s carriage crashed and he and Mary stayed with us. I did not attend Charlotte’s wedding and remember Alison’s only fleetingly. Maggie remembers, though.”

Amelia curled up beside her, head propped up on her hand. “That does not matter; you are here now. My advice, yes from one not quite fourteen, is that you have a serious talk with her tomorrow. Tell her you understand why she was angry and you were wrong. Because you _were_ wrong. You must make good on it not just in words but in deeds. Maggie had been with us for two years and there was never a hint of impropriety. Uncle Robert saw her at the Midsummer ball and asked a friend of ours, Uncle Otis, if he could make the introduction. He had done some legal work for Otis’s organization, which was how he knew Otis. So Otis asked Maggie if she cared to be introduced, and then he did. It was all proper and customary. And even after, Robert asked permission from Papa for everything, except to marry her, which he asked from Grandpapa, although he did talk to Papa first.”

“I should be so fortunate.”

“You will be if you conduct yourself as a lady should. There must be no scandal, Elizabeth, _ever_. You must never look at that man again. He wants nothing from you but your virtue, and once he has it he will discard you. If he approaches you in any way, even by a letter, you must tell Papa immediately, and he will take care of it. Do you promise you will?”

Elizabeth sat up again, then nodded. “I promise.” She looked back at her niece in wonderment. “You are old beyond your years.”

“So I have been told. It is both a blessing and a curse, I can tell you truthfully.” She sat up and embraced her aunt, kissing her cheek. “Rest now. You have work to do in the morning. I venture Papa will have convinced her to give you another chance.”

She passed by her parents’ door, where a strip of light still played underneath. But now she heard muffled noise inside. _He has convinced her_ , she thought with a wry smile, and continued down the hall to her own room and bed.

**The Thirtieth of September, 1836**

_London_

Breakfast was a raucous affair, with laughter and singing and silly threats of the dreaded bumps. Small gifts were given to sixteen year old Jay, a book, a pair of fine calfskin gloves, a folding pen knife with a carved horn handle. His father had a special unnamed place to take him that morning, and the rest of the family and Susan (who was family) would come for dinner that evening. Fifteen around the Bedford Place dining table was a bit of a squeeze, but two were small children, and no one minded being close together.

Before heading to all the breakfast merriment, Elizabeth had gone to Charlotte’s chamber. Kellow was finishing with her hair, and Charlotte seemed relieved to see her sister, making it less embarrassing for Elizabeth to ask for an opportunity to converse. When they entered the breakfast room together, both Sidney and Amelia breathed small sighs of relief.

Sidney whisked off Jay to the undisclosed location, while Amelia and Adam took the rest of the children up to the school room to play games. Charlotte and her sister cloistered themselves in Sidney’s study. Charlotte declined to take the lead, instead she seated herself on one side of the settee and waited for Elizabeth to speak. Her sister stood and fidgeted with her sleeve, gathering her courage.

Charlotte felt as if she saw her sister from a wholly new viewpoint. Not as the two year old who toddled about Heywood House when Tom and Mary Parker first stayed there. Not as the tearful fifteen year old who said goodbye to Maggie when they took her to Sanditon. No, she was Elizabeth Heywood, nineteen years old, with the Heywood eyes and rounded nose and chestnut curls, the last in a long line that began with herself. Charlotte and Elizabeth were book ends with a full twenty years and ten siblings between them. The final vestiges of Charlotte’s anger ebbed away and sisterly love flowed into its place, just as Sidney had said it would last night when he held and caressed her. He did, after all, have far more experience with a difficult sibling than she.

“I beg your forgiveness, Charlotte. My conduct was abhorrent. I have no excuse other than foolishness. I did and do know such behavior is wholly unbecoming of a lady. I am not completely ignorant. Mama did teach me, as she did all of us. Your anger was fully justified. I understand if you choose to send me back to Willingden. But I hope you will find it in your heart to give me a second chance to prove I am worthy of your trust.” The words had gushed from her, almost in one breath. She inhaled and exhaled audibly when finished.

Charlotte patted the seat next to her. “Come sit, dear sister.” Elizabeth tentatively perched on the edge of the settee. “I, too, must apologize. I have been even more foolish in the past than you were yesterday. You see, many years ago I acted recklessly and endangered my friend, Georgiana. She was abducted and sold partly because of my actions.”

“I had heard of the abduction of Georgiana, but sold?”

“Yes, to a man who would then marry her for her fortune. To make matters worse, I disobeyed Mary Parker and took the coach to London, by myself, arriving in the dark of night in a disreputable part of the city where I began searching for my friend. In an alleyway, a man accosted me. I fought valiantly, but unbeknownst to me, the ruffian had a knife. I would have most likely been killed if providence had not brought none other than Sidney Parker to the scene, at that exact moment. He had been searching for Georgiana, his ward, just as I had been. He beat my attacker and sent him scurrying away. He saved my life.”

“But you already knew him then, did you not?” By now Elizabeth was fully seated and engaged, even shocked, with the story.

“Oh yes, and we had a budding friendship until I insulted him, and then indulged Georgiana in exchanging letters with a man Sidney had forbidden from seeing her, for good reason at that time. Eventually Sidney and I found Georgiana. Sidney risked his life to rescue her. But I traveled alone with him in a carriage all about London and up the road to Scotland. Of course, he was the brother of the family in whose home I was a guest, but still, hardly proper conduct for a young, unmarried woman. Sidney later said without the two of us working together, we never would have rescued her. It turned out for the best, and there was no scandal, but there could have been.”

“You married.”

“In the end. We were fortunate. And I will add that Sidney was continually concerned for my reputation. He attempted to bring me here, to Bedford Place to be with Tom, who had arrived earlier. He told me stay in the carriage. I refused. He was far more of a gentleman than I was a lady.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“For you to understand why I was so very angry. I know firsthand what sort of events can transpire when a young woman conducts herself foolishly. I will do everything in my power to protect my daughters… and you, from such a fate. I am not quite as concerned for Amelia, she is older and possesses strong principles. But Justine, she is young and emotional and sentimental, very impressionable. Little Imogen is so new to us, and was mistreated in the past, I feel a great need to shelter her. That fellow yesterday is nothing but a scoundrel.”

“Yes, I do understand. I promise I will not make any more errors in judgment. I will tell you and Sidney about untoward advances. In fact, Amelia came to speak to me last night.”

“I thought she might.”

“Will you allow me a second chance?”

“We will. But the remainder of our time here in London, you shall not go anywhere without Roland. I will speak to Sidney about Jay returning to Winchester by himself. Next week Sidney will be gone a great deal during the day.”

“The wine bottling?”

“Exactly. And Roland’s presence gives me great comfort. I think Jay is old enough to travel unaccompanied.”

###

A few hours passed before Sidney and Jay returned, the latter sporting a new gentleman’s black silk top hat in the D’Orsay style with curved brim. Sidney had taken him to his tailor to be measured for a new set of clothing suitable for a young man. All would be finished by his next break from school, needing only the final fitting, but the hat was in his possession now. Aaron squealed with delight and demanded to have it placed on his head, which Jay did briefly, as it sunk down over his eyes.

###

Arthur enfolded his beloved nephew in his arms and kissed him atop his head. “My dear Jay, how happy I am to see you!” And so started a joyous evening of laughter and gifts and songs, much as breakfast had been but with more participants. Susan took a seat beside Elizabeth after dinner when they all gathered in the sitting room, no need for the men and women to separate in this family.

“And how are you finding London?” Susan asked.

“A trifle confusing, I must admit.”

“Yes, I can fully understand how it must be. The first time I met Charlotte she told me she, too, could not see much to like here.”

“Charlotte said you met at a ball.”

“Yes, a very tedious one. I had escaped to the quiet of the library when Charlotte stumbled in, seeking her own solace, most befuddled. Later I found it was due to Mr Sidney Parker. When he came and asked her to dance, I was quite sure they were destined for each other. I am never wrong in matters of the heart.”

“I wish I knew my destiny,” Elizabeth said wistfully.

“If one knows, then where is the delicious surprise? You are still quite young, as I am certain many have said to you. I was four and twenty when I finally married. Your destiny is waiting patiently for just the right time.”

**The Fourth of October, 1836**

_London_

Rain fell most of the day. Jay departed that morning for Winchester; Sidney was gone for the day, occupied with the first round of bottling. Later in the afternoon, the rain ceased and shafts of sunlight broke through the dark clouds. The children were anxious to stretch their legs. All but Amelia, who was too absorbed in her book, went with Elizabeth down the street to Bloomsbury Square for a quick stroll in the fresh air. Roland was summoned to accompany them.

As they reached the corner of Bedford and Bloomsbury Places, a sleek black Brougham four-in-hand pulled to a stop before them. The door with an ornate family crest opened revealing the finely dressed occupant inside. He stepped out and balanced jauntily on his cane and one foot, the other crossed in front. “Well, well, we meet again my little beauty. How serendipitous.”

Elizabeth motioned the children behind her, and all followed but Adam, who eyed the fellow with great suspicion. Roland stepped between. “Mr Parker instructed you in no uncertain terms that you were to leave his family alone. _Sir_.”

“But Mr Parker is not here, is he?”

‘Indeed he is,” said Adam. “Right here.”

Hatton looked at the boy and sneered. “Come,” he said to Elizabeth. “Join me for a ride. I see your scolding harpy of a mother is not with you to object.”

“Leave, sir. Now,” said Roland.

Hatton shifted his weight off his cane and whipped Roland across the arm with it. “Blackguard. Do not ever speak to me in such a way!”

“Go!” Adam shouted to Elizabeth. “Now!”

She took Aaron and Imogen by the hand and dashed back down the street, Justine close behind.

Roland gripped his injured arm with his other hand but stood his ground, blocking Hatton from following.

“And you,” he struck Roland again in the same place, only now his hand took the brunt, “will not fight back, will you, _manservant?”_

Hatton raised his cane again but Roland grabbed hold of it and held tightly. “And give you the satisfaction of seeing me sent to prison for life, or worse? I think not. You will not prevail. Mr Sidney Parker will know of this.”

The two men struggled for a moment with the cane before Hatton began to slap Roland in the face. “Let go, scum.”

A great calm came over Adam. He spoke in a loud, mocking voice. “He cannot strike you, but I would take great pleasure in the act. Your disparagement of my mother and defiance of my father’s order cannot go unpunished.”

Hatton’s head snapped to him. “You have become an annoyance, you stupid little pup.”

“Leave go of him and drop the cane,” said Adam. “Fight like a man, if you are one, which I doubt. All _soft_ like a _little babe_.”

Hatton shoved his cane into Roland and turned his attention to Adam. His driver had now come to his side, unsure of what to do. Hatton handed him his hat, then squared off at Adam, who was a full head shorter. Hatton opened his arms, exposing himself. “Go ahead. Try.”

“Tis not sportsmanlike to strike a man who does not defend himself. Take your fighting posture.” Adam himself was firmly placed, feet planted, arms cocked up in defense as he studied the man’s body for the best places to land his punches as his father had taught.

Hatton laughed. “Oh, like so?” He took an affected stance, smirking, his limp wrists holding half closed fists in an awkward position.

“Is that your stance?” Adam tried not to laugh; he needed to concentrate.

“Yes, little Parker _puppy_. Have at it.”

Two uppercut blows were all it took. A left to the solar plexus, a right to the jaw. Hatton spiraled and fell, out cold on the ground. Roland tossed the cane down on top of him.

Adam inspected his hands to make sure he had not reinjured his knuckles, then looked at the driver, who stared with his mouth agape. “Tell your master, when he wakes up of course, that should he ever again bother the Parker family, he will face my father. And I assure you, he is far larger and boxes far better.”

He turned to Roland and put his arm about him. Together they walked back. Charlotte met them half way, seeing Roland’s bleeding hand she hastened them inside. Elizabeth fluttered about when she saw Roland’s injuries. It was all her fault, she thought.

But he and Adam were _laughing_.

###

Aaron heard the door and ran to his father as Mrs Randolph took his cane and hat. “Papa, Papa, Adam punched the bad man, knocked him clean out!”

“What?” Sidney followed Aaron into the sitting room, taking in the merry scene with puzzlement. Tea was nearly finished; Roland was seated with the rest of the family, his hand bandaged. As soon as he saw Mr Parker, he jumped to attention, but Sidney motioned him to sit again.

Now the cries of “Papa!” began.

Imogen rushed to him, arms outstretched. He lifted her up, she full of giggles. “Roland saved us, and Adam punched the bad man!” she said, her face flushed in excitement.

“So I have been told. Will someone please explain?”

Everyone began to talk at once, then finally the story was told in increments, first by Elizabeth, with Aaron imitating Hatton’s jaunty stance with his cane, “How _ser-en-dip-i-tous…”_ he said, lampooning Hatton’s pretentious manner of speaking. Justine voiced her fury at the way he had spoken of Mama.

Roland had his part to say, downplaying his role, much to the objections of the others, who praised his gallantry.

Then Adam explained how Hatton had called him _stupid little pup_ and _Parker puppy._ Adam imitated Hatton’s fighting stance, bringing a loud guffaw from his father. “He all but begged me to knock him down, Papa, I swear.”

Roland seconded.

As the story concluded, Charlotte asked Sidney if he would have tea. “Ah, it has been a long day and I need to wash up first.”

Roland jumped again to attention. “Let me see to it, sir.” He turned and bowed to Charlotte. “Mrs Parker, thank you for inviting me, tis an honor. I will take my leave.”

As he left the room, Elizabeth rose and followed him. “Roland,” she called after him. She noticed for the first time his strong, straight back.

He turned. “Miss Heywood?”

“I want to thank you again, for defending me.” He was not quite as tall as Sidney, but stockier, and just as well built. “I have no doubt you could have done exactly as Adam did, but you were wise not to take the bait.”

“One needs to know one’s place in the world, Miss. I would gladly defend you and the children many times over.” He smiled kindly at her.

His face was a bit impish when he smiled, squared jawed with well-cut lips, small straight nose and pale blue eyes, the straight, sandy brown hair always neatly in place, with well-kept muttonchops. In fact, Roland was always impeccably groomed and attired. “I do not know your name,” Elizabeth said.

“My name, Miss?”

“Your given name.”

“Ah, Michael, Michael Roland.” He bowed. “I will see to my duties, now. Thank you, Miss Heywood.”

She watched him go, then returned to the sitting room. “Are you all right, Elizabeth?” asked Amelia. “You look rather pale.”

“Oh, I suppose the afternoon has caught up with me,” she said, “I am well, truly.”

Charlotte accompanied Sidney to their room. “I hope you are not angry with him,” she said.

“How could I be? Hatton will not dare breathe a word of how a mere _puppy_ knocked him out cold. Adam used his skill in exactly the manner he should have. I’m quite proud of him, in truth.”

“You will tell him so, I trust.”

“Indeed I will.”

As she tied his fresh cravat, she inquired about his day.

“It went very well,” he said. “I would say two more days and we’ll be finished. Excellent to have Étienne with me, a magnificent friend he is.”

“Are we not fortunate, Mr Parker?”

“We are.” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed her.


	71. The Advantages of Clear Sight

**The Seventh of October, 1836**

_London_

“Are they silver?” Charlotte asked.

“Indeed.”

“Put them on.”

Sidney obliged, unfolding and sliding out the arms of his new spectacles before placing them on his face. He took her by the waist, pulling her close and examining her through the oval lenses. “Aha! Now I see you clearly.”

“They make your eyes quite large.”

“They magnify what I see, so logic would have it they work in reverse.” He frowned and squinted dramatically in jest. “Do you think me an old man now?”

“Hardly. They are only for reading, and you look distinguished in them, the silver matches that in your hair.” She ran her fingers up the nape of his neck and into his curls. Then reaching up, she brushed her lips against his, teasing him to deepen it, a task he readily accepted. “You don’t kiss like an old man.”

“Should I ever love you like an old man, I give you permission to toss me out of bed on my ear.”

“It will never happen.”

“That I love you like an old man or you toss me out?”

“Both.” She finished with another kiss. “What did Mr Johnson say?”

“The contract for the sale of my shares of the _Swift_ is sound…”

“You’ve had them since before I met you. Sad to see her go.”

“It’s time. She had a good run, been quite profitable for us, but steam power is the future. She was the last of my sailing ships.”

“The end of an era.”

He nodded acknowledgement.

“And what of Dougherty?” she continued.

“No response to the letter, but we have done what we could to inform him that his daughter is gone and his granddaughter is cared for, being raised as a lady. If he wishes contact with her he must notify Johnson. I commend you for the excellent idea, my love.”

“Of course you do.” She pulled her head back in scrutiny. “May I take them off you now?”

“If you do, I cannot see you quite so clearly.”

“But kissing will be much improved.”

“True.”

She carefully pulled off his spectacles and placed them on the desk. “And what does he say about Boyle?” 

“He continues to see no danger there. I trust his opinion; he’s a fine solicitor, never done wrong by me. If Boyle deserted his legitimate children, he would not have much incentive to seek out the illegitimate one. Johnson was wise to recommend to Dougherty that should he choose to remember her after his death, it be held until she is of age. Boyle would not be able to claim her for the inheritance.”

“But that was not the case with Georgiana, and she had to wait until she was of age.”

“No, she inherited the fortune directly. It was hers to use as soon as George Lambe passed; it was me she was not free from. I managed it, but the money was hers, making her a target. We asked Dougherty to place any inheritance in a trust, unavailable to Imogen until she is twenty-one. Still, I believe the odds of him leaving her anything are quite remote.”

“No matter. She is a happy little girl, now. And how proud I am of the children, taking her to their hearts, no jealousy or ill feelings.”

“Because they know _they_ are loved.” He demonstrated how well they could kiss without the spectacles. Then he tilted his head in an amused look. “What have you done with them? It was suspiciously quiet when I came home. Not even music.”

“Amelia and Adam were playing chess in the school room last I saw. Elizabeth was working with the two little ones on letters and numbers. Justine, she’s pouting somewhere, now that Isabelle has left for Westerly.”

“She’ll see her in a two weeks’ time.” He shook his head. “And Elizabeth is not upset she is staying home tonight?”

“Not at all. I had her measured today at the modiste and we ordered three gowns for the balls in December, so she is most happy. And in all honesty, I believe she finds us older people a bit tedious. She wants the society of those her age.”

“We have the afternoon to ourselves, then. We aren’t due at Babington’s until half six.” He bent down to kiss and nuzzle beneath her ear.

“What are you suggesting, Mr Parker?”

He continued down her neck. “We need to make certain you have no need to toss me out.”

She sighed and tilted her head back. “You will not wear your spectacles, will you?”

“I don’t need them. I know every inch of you by heart.”

“If we go quickly we can get to our room without being noticed.”

“My clever wife.”

###

“Oh good God, he’s an absolute rake,” said Crowe.

“Coming from you that is most telling,” Sidney replied.

“Oscar Hatton. Is he not the one who has been given the boot at several clubs for ungentlemanly conduct?” asked Babington.

“The same one, but his father, Earl of Radclyffe, usually intervenes. Truly Parker, the man is a villain. I should spread the news he was knocked out by a twelve year old boy.”

“Ah, he’s still eleven for a few more weeks, but no, do not. We wish nothing else to do with the man.”

“And your sister, Charlotte, she suffered no harm?” asked Esther.

“Nothing other than a lesson learnt and taken to heart.”

“Terrible experience for her first time in London, though,” said Clara.

“I believe Charlotte’s first time here was far worse,” Sidney said with a wink.

Babington snorted. “What was it you said to her at the ball Crowe, you buffoon, _the mask becomes you_.”

“Oh she had at me for that, if I remember…”

“Thank you for the compliment if it is indeed one,” answered Charlotte.

“You see, even then she had your number, Crowe,” Sidney added.

Crowe pointed at Sidney in acceptance.

“But back to the incident. Adam has no ill effects?” asked Esther.

Sidney chuckled. “Adam was elated to bring him down. Hatton called Charlotte a…”

“Scolding harpy,” Charlotte cut in.

“Oh please, please, let me circulate that he was taken down by an _eleven_ year old,” said Crowe.

“Hatton will know it came from us. I would fear for Adam then,” Charlotte said, putting her hand on Crowe’s arm. “Best if it goes no further than this room.”

“Oh, very well.”

The butler entered the sitting room. “Dinner is served, my Lady.”

**The Tenth of October, 1836**

_On the Road to Sanditon_

The rain poured down and Sidney insisted Roland ride inside the chariot with Adam, Kellow, and Elizabeth, who was happy to finally have the valet sitting in one place. She had attempted numerous times in the previous days to engage him in conversation, but he would slip away for some duty or another, always distant and slightly uncomfortable.

Miss Kellow seemed far more animated than Elizabeth had previously known her to be, talking about Cornwall and seeming to have much more of a rapport with Michael than she did. Adam simply followed along in his congenial way, commenting here and there. It was she who felt the odd one, but she did learn something about Roland, who seemed to forget himself a bit with his master in the other carriage. He was from Brighton, third son of a tailor with no opportunity to take over the family business, so he worked his way up in service, first as a hallboy, then as footman. Because of his tailoring knowledge, he was able to land the job with Mr Parker, who wanted more of an overall manservant than a valet in particular, and here he had stayed for near ten years.

It seemed strange, as Elizabeth was the daughter of a country gentleman and landowner, and yet on the level of a servant because of her position with her sister's family. But why should she not find this man attractive, because he certainly was, seeming more handsome to her every passing day. She would have to slyly puzzle this out with Amelia, taking care not to be caught. The girl was far more than clever. She seemed to see inside a person. Know what thoughts were in one’s head. But for now, Elizabeth was content to listen and watch this man. The opportunity might not arise again for some time.

**The Twenty-Fifth of October, 1836**

_Sanditon_

“Is Mama not coming down for breakfast?” asked Amelia.

“She is taking a tray with Auntie Diana this morning,” replied her father, meaning there was ladies’ business to discuss.

“Have you been reading this _Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club_ ,” asked Francis, “by this fellow, Charles Dickens?”

“Heard of it, but not read,” answered Sidney.

“Are you enjoying it?” came from Amelia.

“Wonderful satire of men,” said Francis, “but I am afraid the characterizations of women leave much to be desired, so it might fail to interest you.”

“Nonsense,” said Amelia, “I read everything worth reading.”

“Indeed you do,” said Elizabeth.

Arthur gazed over the top of his brioche toast at Sidney, who was immersed in his paper. “I cannot become accustomed to you in those spectacles, brother.”

Sidney looked up over the silver rims. “Ah, you will. I found it difficult at first myself, but I’m glad to read without a struggle now.”

“Interesting that Tom has not yet needed them,” said Arthur.

“Tom has not spent his life pouring over shipping documents and ledgers.”

“Oh no disparagement, Sidney, just an observation.”

“None taken. Speaking of Tom, you remember we are all invited to Trafalgar House tonight for dinner.”

Francis and Étienne exchanged knowing glances.

###

“Who am I to say what is scandalous behavior?” said Diana, adjusting the tray and smoothing the coverlet around her. “Here I am married to one man and in love with another.”

“Oh, Diana, your situation is completely different. Jenny is a young, unmarried woman. Are you quite sure about all of it?”

“If she herself is to be believed. She is quite direct, Charlotte, smoking and drinking, discussing the men in her life. She models unclothed, in the _nude_ , you know, for several artists.”

“What of her companion?”

“Miss Dunning? She seems far more conventional, although she is a student at the academy as Jenny is.”

“And you believe Jenny has had… relations with these men?”

“I hesitate to say, but she certainly alluded to it. Francis thinks she is trying to shock us, that she has not gone that far.”

“If she is having relations, it is only a matter of time before she is with child.”

“But what do I say to Mary now? We shall see her tonight and she will ask, I am certain.”

“She does refer to Jenny as a bohemian, so perhaps she knows. Jenny was here last Christmas, and her behavior seemed a bit impetuous at times, but not scandalous. I know she and Amelia spent a great deal of time together. Perhaps you should ask her…”

“Goodness! If Jenny discussed such things with a girl Amelia’s age! Would you not be outraged?”

“Not outraged, at least as far as Amelia.” she shrugged. “Let me call for her.”

“Are you certain?”

Charlotte nodded and went to the door. The maid was further down the hall. “Nancy?” she called.

“Yes Mrs Parker?”

“Would you go to the breakfast room and ask Miss Amelia to come to her Aunt’s chamber, when she is finished with her meal.”

The maid curtsied and hurried off. Charlotte resumed her seat in the chair next to Diana’s bed.

“What have you told Amelia about men and the like?” Diana asked.

“Well, when her monthlies first came, about a year ago, we spoke of what it meant, that she was now able by nature to conceive a child, and how she must guard her virtue. She asked if my wedding night was the first time…”

Diana’s mouth fell open. “Oh my! How bold!”

“That is Amelia." Charlotte chucked softly. "She has never been one to mince words.”

“What did you say? Did you scold her for such a question?”

“I said the truth, that it was, and her father had never been anything but a gentleman in that regard, never attempted to force himself on me.”

A knock came at the door. “Auntie D, tis Amelia.”

“Come in my dear girl,” called Diana.

“Good morning, Auntie, Mama,” said Amelia.

“Sit here,” said Diana, patting the bed.

“This seems rather serious,” said Amelia with an eyebrow raised.

“A little,” replied her mother. “We would like to know if you can tell us about Jenny, as you two were in each other’s company a great deal when last she was here.”

“Tell you what?”

Charlotte and Diana exchanged looks. Diana pursed her lips and began. “I will be straight forward, my dear. She hinted to us on her last visit to Saint-Tropez that she has, shall I say, men friends. She told us she models for artists, in a particular state of... dress.”

“I realize it might be a shock, but, did she mention such things to you,” finished her mother.

Amelia looked down at her hands, thinking of how to phrase what she needed to say. “I have made a promise to my cousin, and I am afraid I cannot reveal all she said to me for fear of breaking that promise. As you already know, yes, she does model for several artists, not always unclothed, but sometimes. She is paid well for it, and there are men who model for her, privately, as the women are not allowed to take the life drawing classes where women or men are in scant dress. But she also does illustrations for periodicals and newspapers for which she is well compensated, and has sold some of her paintings and drawings. She is largely independent financially, and therefore feels her life is her own.”

“Were you not shaken when she told you?” asked Diana.

Amelia shrugged her shoulders. “She lives an unconventional life, but she is a grown woman. It is not my place to judge her. If you are concerned that I may choose the same way of living, please do not be. Jenny is Jenny. She has had this disdain for social conventions for some time. It does not mean I do, or will. I love Jenny for who she is, but I know who I am, you see?”

Charlotte stood and cupped her daughter’s chin in one hand and brushed the hair off her forehead with the other. “Yes, you have always had a very strong idea of who you are, my dear Amelia. We would not want you to break your promise. Thank you for telling us as much as you have.”

“Shall I leave?”

“If you would like to.”

“Yes, I should like to have a ride this morning, before the rain comes again.”

“Off you go then,” said Diana.

When the door closed, Diana looked wide eyed at Charlotte. “I cannot believe you are not concerned.”

“Diana, whatever has been said cannot be unsaid. I cannot demand Amelia forget, now can I? Were I to make a fuss it might make Jenny’s conduct seem more exciting. Should I write to Jenny and scold her? For what? I still do not know what Jenny said, and I will not reprimand Amelia for refusing to break her promise.”

“Yes, I see your point. But the problem of Mary has not been solved.”

“Well, here is my opinion, for whatever it’s worth. You do not have to confess your suspicions. It may be Mary is already aware, and bringing it out in the open will only serve to embarrass her and bring shame. I say avoid any discussion of it unless Mary brings it up.”

“I suppose you are right. I keep thinking if it were Isabelle, I would want to know.”

“I believe Mary does know. As Amelia pointed out, this is nothing new for Jenny.”

###

“We thought we’d give it a try, perhaps next year,” said Henry. Tall and slender like his father, he had more of Tom’s looks than Mary’s, but more of Mary’s temperament than Tom’s.

“Yes, yes, that was my idea,” said Tom.

“It was not,” said Henry. “Frederick and I had the idea, and we will follow through on it.”

Sidney shifted in his chair. He was proud of Henry for standing up to Tom, but sad for Tom to be rebuked by his son in front of everyone. “One point to remember,” he said, “the public is rather weary of balls and celebrations by the time Christmastide is over. Make your decisions based initially on how many people come to Sanditon in January.”

“Yes, we understand Uncle Sidney,” Henry replied. “We need more entertainment than just a ball. The ones who come in the winter now are the storm watchers, or those who simply want to get away from the city for a spell.”

“Food and winter are good companions,” said Étienne. “To be indoors on a stormy night with a great feast, just as we are now. People may be weary of balls and celebrations après Noël, but they still must eat, n'est-ce pas?”

“Yes, good point,” said Tom, wagging his finger. Quickly, his mind began to conjure. Just as quickly, talk moved on.

With twenty of them seated around the dining table, a full group conversation was nearly impossible, leading to small groups and different topics, and much noise. James, now seventeen, announced he was considering purchasing a commission in the cavalry in a few years. Adam, being both a lover of adventure and a horse enthusiast, fell into the conversation with great enthusiasm.

Talk went round about Sidney’s wine venture, and the advantages of travel by sea as opposed to land, and news of strides in rail transport, and marriages, and babies, and all the topics an extended family of twenty might converse on over a long meal. One topic never mentioned was Jenny Parker.

When the fourteen from the Old Parker House finally traveled back in three carriages, the hour was late and little ones were asleep in the nearest arms. Sidney, Arthur, Francis, and Étienne stayed up for a round or two of port. When Sidney finally came to their chamber, Charlotte had dozed off. As he slipped in beside her, she roused.

“There you are,” she murmured.

“Did you miss me?”

“Yes, until I had the bed warmed.”

“Is that all I am to you, a bed warmer?”

“Among other things.”

He pulled her tight into him, her back to his front. “Observations, Mrs Parker?”

“Mmm, poor Tom.”

“I agree. But Henry must keep a tight rein on him, otherwise…”

“Yes, yes, otherwise he is a madman.”

“Ah, sad but true. Such a burden for Henry. And Mary.”

“And Alicia. And Frederick.”

“James seems resolved to escape.”

“Jenny already did.”

“Our children will not be so, I hope.”

“No. I do not believe they will. Now, put out the light.”


	72. Birthdays and Other Occasions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments. We are nearing the end of Part 1.

**The Twenty-Seventh of October, 1836**

_Sanditon_

_My Dearest Jenny,_

_How I hope this finds you well and in good spirits. Please accept my apologies for the tardy response to your last missive. First we were off to London for my father’s annual wine venture. My aunt Maggie married, as I told you previously, and we now have the youngest of all my mother’s siblings, Elizabeth, in her stead. She has required some tender care, as she seems naïve in the ways of the world. I shall not bore you with the fine details, but she made somewhat of a spectacle one afternoon in Gunter’s, openly flirting with an arrogant fop. Needless to say, my mother became quite angry and threatened to send her packing back to Willingden._

_E and I had a forthright discussion that night, and the next day with my urging, she spoke to Mama, who agreed to give her a second chance. As fate would have it, a few days afterward, she and the younger ones had gone for a stroll in the square, accompanied by my father’s man, Roland. The fop reappeared in his carriage and attempted to lure her in, adding a disparagement about Mama for good measure. First Roland stepped in and was savagely beaten with a cane by the man. Then Adam goaded him to fight and promptly knocked him out cold. Ha! Quite a scene. Dear Adam, always in Jay’s shadow. I relished seeing him play the hero’s part. He nearly burst with pride, and Papa seemed so very pleased with him, adding to his satisfaction._

_All has settled down now, the Gilberts, et al, arrived and are now visiting us here at OPH. I must advise you that it seems your last visit with them created quite a stir. Mama summoned me to Aunt D’s chamber yesterday morn, where they had been discussing you and wished confirmation from me. I explained I had promised not to divulge your confidences, but Diana said you had already spoken of the modeling work, which I did confirm, along with all your other enterprises. Auntie was all in a fluster, as you know she can be, but I believe my mother assuaged her worst fears._

_I think perhaps, dear coz, you must be more careful with them next time. I know it seems irrational given their own situation, but they are unaware we know. I have never made mention of it, not even to Jay, although I am sure he suspects. I wonder when they will tell Isabelle. She is very much as Justine is in temperament, prone to excesses, and I worry what she will think when she learns the truth._

_I continue to hear from John Conrad, the friend of Jay’s I previously told you of. Unlike Wilhelm’s sentimental bad poetry, John writes of his interests and his views. Makes for much more stimulating correspondence. And I have finally solved the puzzle of W’s mother, told to me by own. She was the rich widow who forced Papa into betrothal after the fire, AND the same who was engaged to him when he was 18! So W’s hints that we are destined because of our families is nonsense. I am also quite certain his father intends him to marry a woman of wealth, otherwise how could they keep up their extravagant life consorting with the crown heads of Europe? NOT a life I wish to have!_

_I do hope you come home for Christmas again. We will all be in London, of course, and I continue to think I might be able to sway Lady Susan into providing you a small patronage. If you come, please bring a collection of your work for her to admire. Will you do that, sweet coz? If you cannot, I will miss you terribly but understand. Please do be careful, Jenny. I know you believe no one in the family cares, but I do, and I know the family does and would all love to see your dear face as would I._

_I must close now. Do write soon and come home if you can._

_Yours as ever,_

_Amelia_

Amelia finished reading all she had penned. Satisfied, she folded and sealed her letter. After changing into her riding dress and inquiring if anyone had requests from town, she tucked the letter into her satchel along with all the other outgoing mail, and headed for the stables.

**The Thirtieth of October, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Even Diana had come to breakfast that morning.

“And what on earth could this be?” said Sidney, examining the long, flat wooden case Étienne had placed before him.

“Good thing you have your spectacles on, so you can see it,” said Arthur. Teasing Sidney about his new eyeglasses had become a pastime for his younger brother.

Sidney undid the latches, slowly opening the case. Inside was a brass and mahogany barreled telescope with a brass stand, all folded neatly into the box. An audible gasp came from around the table.

“A telescope!” said Justine. “How very fine, Papa.”

“Now you can see both close at hand and far away,” noted Arthur.

Sidney lifted it out of the box, which Adam whisked away to make room to set up the instrument. A small chuckle came with a head shake. “How did you know I always fancied having one?” he asked, beaming. “Did I ever tell you?”

Now Francis chuckled. “Your lovely wife did.”

“Aha!” he said, grinning at her. He had the tripod legs unfolded and tightened into place, then adjusted the scope’s placement. After admiring the beautiful workmanship, he looked around the room for a suitable place. “We should put it in the window to see how far the view goes.”

Everyone clamored for a look, and it was determined looking at birds and ships by day, and the moon and stars at night would be the most appreciated use, but Papa did not rule out using it to check on his children, which brought great groans from them and laughter from the adults.

Amelia handed him the gift from the children. He unwrapped the bright paper and ribbon to find a gilt frame that could both stand up on his desk or be hung on the wall. Inside the frame she had penned a sonnet, “To Papa on the Celebration of his Forty-Fifth Journey Around the Sun,” written by all six of them, each child taking a stanza, the final couplet added by Amelia:

_And now our story has been told_

_For in our hearts, you’ll ne’er grow old._

He wiped his eyes. They all came to him with kisses and embraces. “I have just the place for it,” he said. And it was passed around for all to read and exclaim how very fine it was.

Then there was a special letter from Jay, who could not be there, which Papa set aside to read later. Everyone finished the last of breakfast and sips of coffee.

“Mama?” asked Amelia.

Charlotte had been undecided if she should give him the gift in private, but of course, Amelia knew…

“I will be back in a moment.”

She returned and stood behind him in his chair, reaching her arms around his shoulders, presenting the small box on both hands. When he opened it and the cameo stickpin was revealed, exclamations went all around, and she kissed him on the cheek. He turned and leaned his head back against her, saying softly, “I shall wear it often, my love,” before examining the exceptional carving and personal engraving on the back. She stayed with her arms close around him.

“Who is the man?” asked Aaron, leaning across the table to see.

“It is Poseidon,” said his father, “Greek god of the sea and storms. The Romans called him Neptune.”

“How do you know?”

“By the trident, you see here? His three-pronged spear, forged by the Cyclopes.”

“They were giants with one big eye,” said Adam looming over Aaron with his fist against his forehead, “right in the middle like so!”

Aaron squealed in delight and made his own Cyclopes eye at Imogen, giving her cause to collapse into giggles.

**The Seventh of November, 1836**

_Sanditon_

Three days after the celebration of Adam’s twelfth birthday, the French contingent left for Cumberland to visit with Alison and Charles, who was of course Francis’s nephew of sorts. After much pleading and many tears from Isabelle and Justine, Sidney and Charlotte agreed to allow Justine to accompany them, so distraught were the two cousins over the long separation. After Cumberland, they would travel to the Ruthven estate in Dumfries County, Scotland, to visit Francis’s sister, Lady Caroline, and her family. They would be gone for a month’s time.

**The Twenty-First of December, 1836**

_London_

The entire Sanditon Parker family was stuffed into Bedford Place. All the Sidney Parkers, including Jay who was home from school, Tom and Mary, Alicia and Frederick with little Daniel, Henry and James. In addition to personal servants, a few household staff were brought as well, doubling up the servants’ quarters. Arthur and the others were back and happily ensconced at Susan’s. Justine had yet to stop talking about the journey and their stay at the Earl of Ruthven’s estate, and visit with the Copelands.

That evening, Susan would hold a soiree, the occasion allowing the introduction of Elizabeth to a few of the eligible young men in Susan’s extended circle. The gowns for Elizabeth had been fitted and finished. She chose to wear a powder blue satin dress with an over robe of white India muslin, the bodice cut low and slightly pointed. The sleeves, tight to the bend of the arm, then wide and open, were trimmed with swansdown, as was the voluminous layered skirt. Kellow put up Elizabeth’s hair in lovely ringlets, and Charlotte lent her a gold and sapphire necklace with matching earrings.

The children stayed at home, of course. Alicia and Frederick decided to stay as well. As the six who were attending gathered their mantles and hats to leave, Sidney whispered into Charlotte’s ear, “She is almost as lovely as you are.”

“More so,” said Charlotte, hoping for Elizabeth’s sake, her beauty might outweigh her lack of fortune.

Forty or more guests, including Lord and Lady Babington, populated Susan’s townhouse ballroom, where musicians played and guests danced. Wine flowed freely and footmen circulated with platters of tidbits and savory morsels. Like bees to a flower, the eligible young men flocked to Susan to request an introduction to Elizabeth, hoping to be the first to speak to her. The second son of an earl won that prize, lording over her until the next fellow was brought into the sphere of the lovely young woman. At one point she was surrounded by four admirers, all vying for a smile from her.

Sidney escorted Charlotte to the dance floor for a waltz. “Roland outdid himself with your cravat,” she said, admiring the elegant knot fastened with the stickpin.

“It was a lucky day when that young fellow from Brighton came into our lives.”

“What will we ever do when he leaves?”

“If he leaves. He seems in no hurry.”

“Surely he must have some ambition and a desire for his own family.”

“One would imagine, but of course he never speaks to me of it.”

Elizabeth swirled passed them in the arms of a handsome young man, who gazed admiringly at her. She, however, seemed ill at ease, dancing stiffly.

“She does not appear pleased,” noted Sidney.

“I fear it may be all too much for her. She has not the confidence of Maggie.”

“I remember all too well another young woman who felt she did not belong in London society.”

“More than anything I was nervous to be in your company.”

“And yet we had just been in each other’s company for hours on end, and there I was escorting you all around the ballroom, unable to take my eyes off you.”

“Until Mrs Campion appeared,” she said without thinking.

He puffed out a small sigh and gazed down at her, a sad and weary look. “Ah, Charlotte, will I never have apologized enough? I had to exorcise the demon, otherwise we would not have been free of her. Why must you bring her back after all these years?”

She missed a step. He effortlessly caught her. “Forgive me,” she said softly. “Seeing my sister… brings back memories. At times I still cannot believe I won you.”

“You did not _win_ me, any more than I won you. We _chose_ each other.”

“Eliza likened it to a race, saying she could not see the point of entering if not to win.”

“When?”

“At the regatta, during the rowing competition.”

“She said that to you?”

“Yes.”

“And you never told me?”

“I just did.”

“I will never understand women as long as I live.”

The dance finished and they joined Diana, Tom and Mary. Francis, Arthur, and Étienne were conversing with Susan and the young Lord Grassmere, his father having recently passed. Henry had now taken Elizabeth for a dance, the relief on her face evident, oblivious to the pairs of eyes that followed her around the dance floor.

“Why do we always come to London for Christmastide, Sidney?” asked Mary. “We seem to be having a bit of a disagreement.”

“Well, the family always came with father in the late autumn and stayed until February or so, as travel was difficult in winter and he needed to be in London for his business. Both Tom and I spent several Christmases at Winchester because we could not travel.”

“You see?” said Tom, “just as I told you.”

“But why now? Why do we continue to crowd into Bedford Place when we could be in the comfort of our homes in Sanditon?” said Mary.

“True enough. Travel is no longer the problem it once was. But we do enjoy the society here, especially after Christmas,” Sidney replied.

“Could we not do both then? Christmas in Sanditon, then to London after Boxing day?” asked Charlotte.

“We could have balls in Sanditon, then,” said Diana, “not in January, but in December. Bring people out for a country Christmas.”

“Yes, yes,” said Tom, conjuring, “that is my idea.”

“Oh Tom, for heaven’s sake, it was Diana’s idea, not yours,” scoffed Mary.

“But I thought of it before she said it,” Tom answered, a bit miffed.

“Very well Tom, we shall use the French term, _clairvoyant_ , to describe you now,” Diana shot back. “You saw directly into my mind.”

“No matter whose idea it was, I believe it’s a good one,” said Charlotte.

The dance ended, bringing Henry and Elizabeth to the group along with the Babingtons. Mary immediately told Henry of _Diana’s_ idea, earning a look of displeasure from Tom. Esther thought it a marvelous scheme, and soon plans were hatching for next year’s Christmastide in Sanditon, while young men seeking a dance with Elizabeth began surrounding the group, and she was taken away yet again.

###

“Can you not sleep?” Charlotte asked. He had been slightly distant with her the remainder of the evening, and she was not sure how to make things right without bringing it up again. “Are you angry with me?” He said nothing, but she knew he was awake. She curled into him and ran her hand up his chest. “Are you?”

“No,” he said in a low voice. “I am not angry.”

“But you are not happy, either.”

He continued with his silence for a few more moments. Then he took hold of her hand and began. “You and I have done everything together, had five children and taken in a sixth. We have both nursed the other back from near death. I never saw or spoke to her again after the day she released me. You have been my entire life, you and the children. There is no part of me I have not revealed to you, but you seem to still take umbrage about that one week, something I have explained over and over, yet you insist on bringing it up when I least expect it. Why?”

“I have no resentment, honestly, I said it without thinking. I suppose Elizabeth reminds me too much of myself back then, and perhaps it is me I have not forgiven.”

“She’s been dead for over twelve years, Charlotte. Can we not let her rest where she is?”

“Yes, you are right. We can and we will. Do you forgive me?”

“If you promise me you will never again doubt my love for you.”

“But I did not doubt it. And I _do_ not. Sometimes women remember things men have brushed aside, or remember them in a different way, for different reasons. I suppose it is my fear for my sister that she will suffer disappointment, and I understand it by remembering my own disappointment at Mrs Maudsley’s ball, as if you and I were people in our past, not who we are now. That night I felt I was an impostor, just as I know she felt tonight. When I thought you had forgotten me because of Eliza, I believed I would never match up to her, a worldly, wealthy woman. I fear the same for my sister. Once those men realize she is a simple country gentleman’s daughter with no money to bring to a marriage, they will disappear. It has nothing to do with us and our life now. Do I make sense?”

“Not all men care about money. I did not until my brother was threatened with the poor house, and even then the care was not for me. There is hope for her. There was for Maggie.”

“True. I cannot foretell how her story might end.”

“Nor can I.” He kissed the top of her head. 

"Will you sleep now?"

"Perhaps not just yet." In one quick movement he had her beneath him.

**The Twenty-Fourth of December, 1836**

_London_

The house was a bustle of activity. Garlands of holly and greenery were strewn about, slowly finding their way in the hands of the ladies as decoration in windows and on mantles and over doorways. The men had obtained a Yule log and pulled out from the basement the charred piece from last year to start the new log. The little ones were playing clapping games; spirited drinks were about; Justine played the spinet in the corner. Then a loud cry came from the entry hall as someone was admitted into the premises. Amelia stepped out of the sitting room to see who it was, holly still in her hand. There before the now closed front door, Mary held none other than her daughter, Jenny, in a tight, loving embrace.


	73. The Past, The Present, and the Future (Apologies to C. Dickens)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the wonderful comments on the previous chapter. S&C’s discussion goes all the way back to the end of Chapter 27 of The Brothers, where the day before their wedding they finally talk about the London ball and the week after. It’s worth a re-read to get perspective. Was for me anyway. 😉

Still **The Twenty-Fourth of December, 1836**

_London_

The flames of the Yule log warmed the hearth; Christmas Eve dinner had been devoured, with ample servings of frumenty and mince pies. The Christmas candles flickered on the mantle, lit from the Yule log by Imogen, the youngest able. There they would stay until they burned themselves out, the keepers of everyone’s silent wish. All seventeen of the combined Parker clan overflowed the Bedford Place sitting room. They played cards, told stories, sang carols with Justine’s accompaniment, drank wassail. In time, the littlest ones were carried off to bed and others retired, Alicia and Frederick, Justine, Jenny, who was exhausted from travel and talking.

Late into the night, only the four eldest remained, Sidney, Charlotte, Mary, and Tom, who was quite lucid despite having allowed himself a bit of wassail. He gazed at the burning Yule log, his face appearing ghostly in the glow. “For years,” he mused in a gravelly voice, “I could not look upon a fire without remembering the sight of it shooting out through the windows, roaring through the roof. I was rooted to the spot, watching my dreams consumed by flame.”

The other three sat silent. Charlotte, nestled in Sidney’s arms, felt them tighten around her.

“But you, brother, you were a man of action,” Tom continued, his eyes widening. “Manning the water pump, shouting out orders, you in your white waistcoat turned golden orange in the fire’s glare. And you, Charlotte, in your blue gown and white gloves, leading the bucket line…”

“It’s all in the past, Tom,” Mary said gently, patting his hand, fearing a melancholic episode was imminent. “All was remedied. Sanditon is a success, just as you envisioned it would be.”

“But ‘twas not I who made it so.”

“That matters not,” Sidney said, his voice so velvety and deep Charlotte felt it resonate against her. “Sanditon is a family enterprise, just as Diana said: we are Parkers; we stand together.”

“Now Henry has joined, and Frederick. The family enterprise continues,” said Charlotte.

“And Jenny is home, and Jay,” said Mary, hoping to change the subject. “And Arthur and Diana and Francis…”

“Yes, tomorrow all of us will be together at Susan’s,” said Charlotte. “The entire family. Georgiana and Otis.” She looked up at Sidney, who smiled and kissed her forehead.

“We are blessed, Tom,” he said, “here and now, at this moment. Delight in it. What you speak of is the past, where we have been. The future is where we head…”

“Yes, yes, we must look to the horizon, to the next generation. I am grateful, you must know I am. I do not mean to be self-pitying. I’m away from the sea and its calming effect on me. Christmas in Sanditon is a good idea in many, many ways, is it not?”

“It is,” Mary agreed, “and we will make it happen _together_.”

###

Elizabeth Heywood lay awake, pondering the future and the present. She had offered to stop in at the servants’ hall on her way to her chamber, to let the valets and lady’s maids know their services would not be needed, that masters and mistresses would be up late and tend to themselves. Truthfully she wanted to see how they celebrated in the servants’ hall, especially one of them. She found herself caught in a strange world between family and servant, something Maggie had never mentioned. No doubt, Elizabeth thought, she herself created this conundrum to fan her interest.

The fire blazed, all wassail cups full, the mood almost raucous when she arrived. Michael Roland was the center of the storm. They all jumped to attention upon seeing her, and when she delivered her message, great cries rang out. “Now we can ply it out of him,” someone said while another grabbed his cup away to fill it. “Mr Parker doesn’t need you, so have a bit more to drink.” It seemed Roland had received some news that he would not divulge. He laughed good naturedly, but she could tell by the set of his strong jaw he was not about to tell them. She did not stay long, though she would have liked to.

All three occupants of the nursery were asleep when she passed through to her small chamber, as Jenny took a bed there rather than toss Justine from hers. She had hoped Jenny could help her with undressing, but she had not the heart to wake her. She had only met Jenny a few times, the last being Frederick’s wedding. Jenny left for Paris when she came of age, and there she had stayed. Elizabeth found her fascinating and worldly, very continental in her dress. She even wore face paint, subtle but nevertheless there, not just rouge, but something black around her large blue eyes. Elizabeth knew Charlotte wore face powder and cheek and lip rouge on special occasions, but Jenny wore it to travel. Quite daring, it seemed. In her last thoughts as she drifted off, she imagined herself traveling.

**The Twenty-Fifth of December, 1836**

_London_

Christmas Day fell on a Sunday that year. During breakfast, small gifts were given to the children, and they in turn gave a special gift to their parents. In those days, it was not the custom for many gifts to be exchanged, but rather a time of charity and togetherness. The Christmas boxes for the servants were always very generous; the ones for the Sanditon staff having been left with Mr and Mrs Evans, the faithful overseer and housekeeper, for distribution tomorrow on Boxing Day.

The entire family walked to services. Jay, attired in his fine new clothing and top hat, appeared every inch the young gentleman. Tall and long legged with a muscular build like his father, he possessed the same dark curls and full mouth, slightly aquiline nose in profile. But his eyes and brow were unmistakably like those of his mother.

Jenny and Amelia strolled arm in arm, their first chance to talk alone since the former’s arrival. Yes, she had brought some artwork to show Lady Susan, but when would be the best time? Surely not tonight. What sort of patronage might she give? A pound or two a month?

“Well,” said Amelia, “I think it best if you come with an account of your expenses, such as tuition and supplies. She would want to make your schooling easier, not take _care_ of you necessarily. Susan admires initiative.”

“Twenty pounds a year would cover all my tuition and supplies, depending on what medium I work in. Oils are far more expensive than watercolor.”

“She could very well agree to such a sum. Let’s stay hopeful. But you must not be too flamboyant. She favors discretion.”

“Yes, I understand. See how sensibly I am dressed today?”

Amelia laughed. “The epitome of prudence.” They walked a few steps in silence before she continued. “I have been thinking, coz, we should publish chapbooks someday. Children’s stories and travelogues…”

“How curious you should mention that. I came across a fellow recently who had an entire collection of _Bibliothèque bleue_ , the old French chapbooks printed on rough blue paper. Something to think about.”

“And what did you think of my letter?” Amelia asked. “Of Auntie D and her concern?”

“Of course, you are right. I was too _flamboyant_. But those assumptions are hers. I said nothing about having relations with men, only that I posed for artists.”

“And are you?”

“Having relations?”

“Yes.”

“Your mother would never forgive me if she knew I have spoken to you about such things.”

“My mother does not need to know. My concern is for you. What if you become enceinte?”

“Amelia, it was only twice, and I did not.”

“So Jacques is still the only one?”

She sighed. “Yes, and if I had to do it over again, I would make the same choice.”

“Why?”

“Because now I know. Now I cannot be fooled. Now I… now I feel I have power over men rather than them over me. I suppose that sounds odd to you.”

“No, it does not. I believe I understand.”

She changed the subject for fear they would be overheard. “And what of this John Conrad? You like him?”

She made a little humming noise. “I do.”

“And he is handsome?”

“Very.”

“Well… what are his looks?”

Amelia saw him in her mind’s eye. “He is tall and nicely built, a little taller than Jay.” She nodded ahead of them where Jay escorted Elizabeth.

“You are not relieved just yet, but let me say how very handsome Jay is now. He will surely break hearts.”

“I cannot imagine Jay breaking a heart; he is so sensitive himself. But Adam? He will break many, that I am sure.”

“Interesting theory. Yes, Adam will also be _very_ handsome, but you may be right, a bit of a rogue. So, back to Mr Conrad.”

“His hair is dark and abundant.”

“Straight or curls?”

“Straight. And his eyes are quite extraordinary. Amber in color, quite large, very long dark lashes. A fine straight nose and strong chin, well-formed lips, beautiful teeth.”

“Hmm, what else. Pale? Ruddy?”

“No, golden. He is half Indian.”

She did not miss a step. “Must be his mother if his name is Conrad.”

“Yes, his mother.”

“Well, I have no objections, but you know society will.”

“When did you become concerned about society?” Amelia scoffed in jest.

“Not for me, coz, for you.”

“Yes, I know all about it from growing up with the Molyneuxs.”

“He sounds… shall I say, enchanting, but… Far too early to even think of such things. We have chapbooks to make first.”

“I’m so glad you are here,” Amelia said, pulling Jenny closer as they walked.

“As am I, my lovely, as am I.”

###

Sidney dressed for dinner first, letting Charlotte and Kellow have the small room to themselves after. Roland asked if he could speak to Sidney privately, and was immediately escorted into Sidney’s study.

“I had an unusual letter come yesterday, Mr Parker, forwarded by Mr Evans as it was marked urgent. It seems I have unexpectedly come into a sum of money.”

Sidney’s mood fell but he did not reveal it. He was about to lose Roland. “Ah, congratulations are in order. From a family member?”

“No sir, from a near stranger. An elderly man of wealth in Brighton who frequented my father’s tailor shop. When I was a boy, he would give me a penny or two for delivery. A few times I ran errands for him and his lady. Right before I began to work for you, sir, I was headed to see my family and came upon his carriage outside of town. It had been beset upon by some young thugs, and the driver was doing his best to fight them off. I assisted and sent them on their way. The old man recognized me, tried to give me a sovereign, but I refused it, telling him my reward was to see him safe and sound.” He paused, fiddling with his cuff, and then said in almost a whisper, “He left me three thousand pounds, sir.”

Sidney raised his eyebrows and nodded in approval. “A very fine sum. Will you open your own tailor shop?”

“No sir, I have no desire to do anything other than serve you right now. It is too unexpected. I had no great plans for the future, you see. But I seek your advice, about how I should go about managing this, sir. I have told no one, as I know if I do, I will suddenly have many friends.”

Sidney chuckled. “That is wise, my good man. I think you are quite right. What kind of advice do you seek?”

“I think I should invest it, Mr Parker, but I have no idea how to go about it.”

“You need a solicitor. There are numerous avenues you could go with investments, depending on how much risk you wish to take. Your solicitor can help you with all the details. And you should have a will, indicating where you wish the funds to go should you pass. To your family now, perhaps, until you have your own.”

“How do I find a solicitor, sir, an honest one?”

“Well, I do not see any conflict if I recommended mine to you. He is a good and honest man, does exemplary work and gives sound advice. I will write a letter introducing you to him if you like. If you prefer someone else, I do know several others who are just as respectable.”

“If the man is good enough for you, Mr Parker, he certainly is for me.”

“Very well. I will have the letter for you tomorrow. Try to see him this week. Let me know and I will make certain you have the time. No doubt the solicitor in Brighton can send the funds directly to the one here.”

“Thank you, sir. I knew you would be a great help.”

“How old are you now, Roland?”

“Eight and twenty, sir.”

“Ah yes, you started in service quite young, I remember.”

“Sixteen as a hall boy, sir.”

“I will be quite sad the day you leave, but I am elated for you. It could not happen to a more deserving fellow.”

“I do not wish to leave any time soon, sir, if you will allow me to stay.”

“Indeed I will.”

###

Two tables were set in Susan’s dining room that afternoon. A smaller one had been brought in to accommodate the six youngest: Aaron, Imogen and Frank Molyneux, all within a year’s age of each other; and Justine, Isabelle and Cora. The three girls were delighted to have their own table to giggle and whisper together. Susan sat at one end of the larger table, Francis at the other end would be tasked with carving the turkey. Sidney had sent over two crates of wine earlier in the week. The feast was one of continual delights, from the oyster soup to start, to the two Christmas puddings brought by the Molyneuxs, stirred by each member of the Molyneux family and aged for weeks. Georgiana had overseen every step including today’s dousing with brandy, and she herself carried one of the flaming platters to the table.

After dinner, while music and song filled the air, Susan queried Elizabeth regarding her impressions of young men recently met.

“They have all expressed an interest in seeing you again. How is it for you?”

Elizabeth sighed and lowered her eyes. “To be frank Lady Susan…”

“Susan.”

“Yes, Susan, I fear when they come to know I am the last of twelve country squire’s children, with no fortune and little dowry, they will quickly lose interest.”

“Hmmm,” Susan mused, “it is true some second and third sons need to marry into wealth, but certainly not all. I believe you will attend Lord and Lady Babington’s ball next week?”

“Yes, my sister has told me of it.”

“I shall see to it that they are invited.”

“Susan, you are too kind. I do have three year agreement to be with my sister’s family as a governess…”

“It never hurts to see what lies beyond the horizon, my dear girl. I am certain Charlotte would never prevent you from marrying should an agreeable situation arise. I believe it was Margaret’s choice to finish her time with the family first, was it not?”

“True, it was.” She knew Susan meant well, and she was ungrateful to feel ambivalent, but all the matchmaking left her feeling pressured, quite the opposite of how she felt when she first left Willingden, wanting nothing more than to marry. She had come to see how little she knew of the world, and now it seemed there was so much to learn. She felt utterly confused.

###

Charlotte’s fingers were still laced through his hair as he journeyed back up her, kissing and caressing along the way. “You spoil me,” she sighed.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said into her ear, followed by a throaty growl as he entered.

She entwined her legs in his, moving with him, matching his rhythm, pulling him to her. Inexplicably, the thought came that she had not looked in her monthly diary for a few days. Surely she was late. But ever since the loss she had been irregular, some longer, some shorter. She did not feel different, and Sidney had said nothing, though she knew he kept track, ever since the first year they were married and he learned what her “little book” was for. With all five he had known nearly as soon as she had, and with Jay, as he was the first, Sidney knew something was different, but he had no reference to put a name on it.

He rolled them over, putting her on top, bringing her back to the moment, and there she stayed. When they finished and lay catching their breath, he chuckled softly. “You were miles away for time. What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I... I’m late.”

“Only a few days.”

“You looked?”

“This morning. Do you feel you are?”

“No. I suppose that’s why I lost track of the days.”

“I don’t think you are.”

“Well, it is settled then.” She rolled off and stretched out next to him.

“Don’t mock me; I’ve been accurate each time.”

“Indeed you have. I don’t mock you, far from it.”

“Hmph…” was the reply.

“Did you not enjoy today, Mr Parker?” she teased.

“Of course I did. I feel full to the gills." He stroked her arm for a moment or two. "But there is something on my mind, and if I tell you must promise not to repeat it to anyone, and not speak of it if any of the servants are within earshot.”

“It sounds very serious.”

“Not for us, well, in a way, but… Roland told me this morning he’s received an inheritance of three thousand pounds.”

She turned to look at him. “Oh!”

“Yes, and he’s not told another soul for fear he’ll be put upon.”

“Indeed, he would be. So he’s leaving us?”

“No, not now. He wishes to invest it and asked advice. But I’ve been thinking, my manager here continues to do haphazard work. I’ve a mind to let him go. Roland will not stay my manservant forever. Perhaps I could teach him how to manage the shipments. It would be a step up for him in the world, and with his inheritance, he could afford a wife and family, live a respectable life.”

“He’s so thorough and loyal, but would he want to live here in London? He’s born and raised by the sea, lived there all his life.”

“Yes, I had the same thought. It’s all speculation for now.”

“Doesn’t hurt to think ahead.”

“Not a word now. Not to your sister or the children.”

“You have _my_ word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems I will need one more chapter to finish Part 1. Most likely sometime next week. Until then, allow me to wish you the happiest of holidays, and thank you again from the bottom of my heart for the gift of your lovely support. ❤️


	74. End of Part 1 -- In the Blink of an Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, we come to the end of the first part. The next will travel ahead in time. Many thanks, as always, for your love and support of the story and these characters. Comments are always welcome and very much appreciated.

**The Twenty-Seventh of December, 1836**

_London_

Early afternoon, seven Parkers and a Heywood left Bedford Place; the four oldest boys set off for Drury Lane to see a pantomime. Jenny, Amelia and Justine bid the boys adieu at the corner, as they were walking to Susan’s in Mayfair, while the boys would head south through the square. Charlotte had suggested Elizabeth visit Maggie in Marylebone, and her sister eagerly accepted. Maggie and Robert had just returned from Chelmsford, where they celebrated Christmas with his family.

Roland accompanied Elizabeth in the chariot to Marylebone, heading to an appointment with his new solicitor afterward. She felt pleasantly surprised that he chose to ride along with her rather than atop with the driver. As a rule, he kept his eyes averted when not speaking directly with her, but today, his mood was altogether jovial, and she felt his eyes upon her a number of times.

“Please give Mrs Godfrey my greetings,” he said as he offered his hand to assist her down from the carriage.

“I shall, Mr Roland. And you will return in two hours’ time to collect me?”

“I will indeed.” He stayed until she had been ushered in by Maggie’s parlor maid.

###

Susan admired Jenny’s collection of drawings and paintings. In particular, she remarked on a technique Jenny had mastered of graphite pencil with watercolors. After asking numerous questions of Jenny regarding her lodgings in Paris, the cost of tuition at the Académie Royale, the number of classes she attended, and a host of other details, Susan placed her hands in her lap and gazed directly at the hopeful young artist.

“Jenny, my dear girl, your work is most commendable. And I am quite impressed that it is accepted for publications with such frequency. I have never had such talent myself, but always recognize and admire it in others. I am prepared to offer you a patronage of one hundred pounds a year for the next three years. Perhaps two disbursements in January and June will allow you to more easily manage it. When your schooling is finished, we shall reevaluate. Additionally, I would like to commission several paintings, as part of my offer. Does this arrangement suit you?”

Both Jenny and Amelia stared at Susan, dumbfounded.

Susan chuckled. “Amelia Parker, I have not seen you speechless since you were an infant.”

“Susan, I…” Truly, Amelia was speechless.

“My goodness, Susan,” Jenny all but stammered, “I cannot thank you enough. It is a sum I never dreamed of. I would be honored to paint any subject you wish.”

“Very good,” said Susan. “But I do have a caveat. You must not be associated with scandal of any kind. I trust you understand why.”

“I do, yes, I most assuredly do, and I give you my word.”

Then Susan called for tea and asked her other guests be given word to join. After Diana, Francis, Arthur, Étienne, Isabelle and Justine all regarded Jenny’s work with great praise, she packed it away and settled down for tea and conversation. Her entire world had been remade in the blink of an eye.

###

“But how did you manage it,” Elizabeth asked Maggie. “Were you family or servant?”

“I never considered myself a servant. You should not either. That they paid me was a godsend. Many families expect the younger unmarried sisters to help without compensation. Why, I managed to save nearly one hundred pounds to add to my dowry! And they were so generous with me, buying most all my clothing, even the ball gowns. Have they not done so for you?”

“Oh yes, they have. I… I suppose it is due to not knowing Charlotte very well. And since I was the youngest, I never learned how to care for little ones, so I am learning there as well.”

‘Nor did I in the beginning. Know Charlotte or how to care for children. You and I are only two years apart. And off we went to France. I cannot tell you how terrifying it was. I had never been on a ship before, and the furthest I had ever traveled was to Cumberland to see Alison. There was Amelia, not yet eleven, conversing fluently in French and telling me all about how to make do aboard ship. To make matters worse, I was so sick the first few days out to sea.”

“She is a remarkable girl.”

“Yes, and a great ally if you let her be. It is true, Charlotte is more of a mother than a sister, but as time passed, we became very close. But she is fiercely protective of her children and suffers no fools gladly when it comes to them, as you learned. No sign of that awful man since?”

“No, but they still send Roland with us whenever in London.”

“Ah, dear Roland. How is he?”

“He sends you his greetings. I almost forgot to mention.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “If I tell you something will you promise not to laugh?”

“Will it be difficult not to? She looked at her sister in amusement.

“Perhaps. I find Roland, very…”

“Attractive?”

“Yes! You did as well?”

“At first, yes, he was so very kind and helpful to me in France. He had already been twice before, you see. Charlotte’s maid, Miss Haskell was absolutely smitten with him, and the children tried to play matchmaker. He was always gentlemanly towards her, but it became so embarrassing… Charlotte put an immediate stop to it when she discovered the little rascals’ machinations. Then Haskell up and married a shopkeeper in Sanditon. I believe Roland was relieved. I do hope he finds happiness someday.”

At the appointed time, Roland came to the door for Miss Heywood. The maid ushered him in and Maggie was delighted to see him. They exchanged pleasantries and good wishes. Then she and her sister embraced and said their good byes. On the return trip, Elizabeth found him even more gregarious, quick to smile and seemingly bursting with delight. She could not help but wonder why.

All four of the elder Parkers were having tea in the sitting room when Elizabeth arrived. Sidney spied Roland in the hall and rose to speak to him. “Would you come to my study at quarter past?” he asked.

“Certainly, sir.”

He was waiting at the door of the study at precisely the exact time. Sidney led him in. “Please, sit down,” he said, motioning to a chair. “I have a business proposition I would like to discuss.”

“A business proposition?”

Sidney seated himself at his desk. “Yes, I think you may be interested. At least I hope you are.” He saw the concerned look that crossed Roland’s face. “Only a proposition. There is no need for you to take it, but hear me out.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I assume you met with Mr Johnson today?”

“I did. I have a banker now, and will discuss investments with him when the funds arrive. Mr Johnson will draw up a will. You were correct, sir; he was very helpful.”

“Good.” He took a breath. “You know I have a man here in London who manages the shipping end of my business. I’ve been dissatisfied with his work for some time now, and have cut back on the number of runs precisely because I find him increasingly unreliable, which in turn seems to make him even more so. In times past, I would travel here for each shipment, some of which I’m sure you remember, and I have no wish to go back to those days. Still, I feel I miss out on opportunity because I do not have a good man here in London. I decided some time ago to let this fellow go and find another; I’ve been waiting for the right time. But first, before I proceed, what are your thoughts on living in London?”

“Permanently, sir?”

“Well, yes, for the most part. Shipping tends to be more concentrated certain times of the year.”

“I had never thought of it before.”

“But you are not opposed to it?”

“No, I do not believe so.”

“All right. I know you will not stay my valet forever, but I loathe to lose such a good man as you. What if you were to take over the shipping end for me, here, in London?”

“I know nothing about it, sir…”

“Understood. But you read, write and can do basic arithmetic, correct?”

“Yes sir, I went to school and learned at home.”

“The rest I can teach you, just as I learned at my father’s company. The more confident I can be about the man I have here, the more business I can do, the more profit for us both, as the current fellow I pay by the shipment, but that does not have to remain the measure. I thought you could live here, at Bedford Place until you can sort out your own accommodations, no hurry for that.”

“When would all this happen?”

“Over the next six months or so. I must not only replace you in the household, no small task I might add, I must train you in the other. It is a step up, and along with your recent news, it could allow you to have a home and a family, a respectable living. But there is no rush to decide. Take your time.”

“But why me sir?”

He chuckled. “Why you? You present yourself very well. You are an excellent judge of character. You can think on your feet. You are intelligent and articulate. And above all, I trust you implicitly. You have never given me reason to doubt you, not once. I have trusted you with the care of my family. There is no greater responsibility I could place in another’s hand.”

“I am honored, Mr Parker.” He dropped his head for a moment, then looked back up at the man across the desk. “When do you wish an answer, sir?”

“I suppose by the time we arrive home, in Sanditon. Is that too soon for you?”

“No, I do not think so, sir.”

“Good. Feel free to ask if you have more questions. Now, take some time for yourself. We’ve a quiet evening at home tonight.”

“I will, sir, thank you.”

He left the office and nearly bumped into Elizabeth in the hall. “Roland, are you well? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

He caught himself a chuckled a bit. “In a way you could say I have.”

“Do you need some fresh air? I thought I might take a stroll up to the square. Would you care to accompany me?”

“Ah, if you are to leave, Miss Heywood, I believe Mrs Parker would expect me to.”

“Very well then, I will see you downstairs.”

She put on her coat, bonnet and gloves, stopping in the sitting room to let her sister know where she was off to.

“Roland will be with you?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes.” She turned to see him waiting at the door. “He is right here.”

Charlotte nodded and smiled, then laughed at a sudden thundering that came from the stairway as Aaron and Imogen caught sight of Elizabeth leaving.

“May we go; may we go!” they both chanted.

“Oh very well, Elizabeth said with mock seriousness. “Quickly -- coats, hats and gloves.”

“Not too long, now,” Charlotte said. “Soon it will be getting dark.”

Aaron and Imogen walked in front, holding hands, while the other two walked side by side behind. “She is so very happy, now,” Roland remarked, nodding at Imogen. “When Mr Parker first brought her home she was afraid of her own shadow. Quite a change in a few short months.”

“Yes, I suppose that is what love can do…” said Elizabeth. She distinctly felt herself blush and looked the other direction.

When they reached Bloomsbury Square, the children began a game of tag while the adults took a seat on a nearby bench. “Stay where we can see you,” Elizabeth called to them before turning to Roland. “What was this ghost you saw?” she teased gently. “Is Bedford Place haunted?”

He chuckled and stole a glance at her. “Not that sort of ghost, more of a glimpse into the future, my future.”

“How intriguing. Do you wish to reveal what it was?”

“Ah, not sure it would hold any interest for you. Miss Heywood. It seems I have an opportunity to take entirely new path in my life. A bit daunting, and yet most welcome at the same time.”

“Will you be leaving us?”

He hesitated. Freeing his thoughts could be both a great relief and unwise.

“Not necessarily.”

Elizabeth popped out a surprised laugh. “Ha! How very… _mysterious._ ”

He sighed, then smiled and shook his head. “While it would liberating to tell someone, Miss Heywood, I am not certain it would be appropriate.”

“Not appropriate to tell, or to tell me?”

“Both.”

“Well, I shan’t press you, then. I will change the subject. Let’s see… you once said your father was a tailor, but you chose to go into service.”

“It was a bit thornier than that.”

“How so?”

He watched the children as he spoke. “My eldest brother would inherit my father’s business, and my second brother would work with him, earning enough wage to provide for his own family. They were both working for my father at the time. Such a business in Brighton could not afford me as a third compensated worker, indeed I worked without pay from the time I was a small boy, beyond a penny or two from a customer for making deliveries. I did cutting and sewing, sorting supplies, went over my father’s ledgers for accuracy. But by age sixteen, I was becoming a burden on my family, or so I felt. My mother was not well, two of my sisters were still not married and living at home. When the opportunity came to leave and work as a hall boy, I took it. At that age I reasoned a life in service would provide me with a steady meal and a roof over my head.”

“Logical decision considering,” she said. “I understand about being the youngest and feeling oneself a burden, only made worse by knowing there is little left in the way of monies or time. I am the last of twelve you know.”

“So I was told. And it is true, much like a bath, the water is rather murky by the time the youngest gets in.”

“Do not throw the baby out with the bathwater,” she smirked.

He laughed. “I imagine with twelve it could happen.”

“But you have done well in service it seems.”

“I suppose so. I rose to footman in half a year and stayed until I was eighteen. Always thought I would be a butler someday. It was on a whim that I took this position with Mr Parker, and truly, it was the wisest choice I have ever made.”

“Yes, they treat their servants well.”

“More than well.”

“But as a man, Mr Roland, you still had more choices than a woman. You could have joined the Army or Navy, become an apprentice in a trade, even a laborer, though a step down. Women have few options beyond marriage, none of them pleasant, and one in my station has marriage, becoming a governess or companion, or remaining a burden on family. I so admire Miss Jenny Parker for pursuing her art. She is far braver and more remarkable than I could ever be.”

He looked at her with an odd expression she could not read and thought she had misstepped. “Forgive me, I am inclined to talk too much.”

“No, Miss Heywood, what you say is true. Except, if I may so bold, about not being remarkable.” Having money had already changed him, he thought. A few days ago he never would have dreamed of saying such a thing to her.

She blushed again and looked away. Then feeling more bold herself she looked back at him, his eyes now soft and amused. “However, not remarkable enough to share your secret.”

Aaron and Imogen appeared before them, flushed and panting, but giggling nevertheless. “Is it time yet?” Aaron asked.

“Five minutes,” said Elizabeth, and off the two ran.

He looked intently at her. “If I tell you, you must promise you will say nothing, not to anyone. Mr Parker is the only one I have told.”

“You do not need to tell me. I was teasing.”

“Promise me and I will.”

“All right. I promise.”

He shifted to face towards her, keeping his voice low, eyes averted. “I have been informed recently of an inheritance, what is to me a small fortune. I spoke to Mr Parker about how to manage it. I told him I was not ready to leave his employ, and he seemed glad of the news and gave me very good advice.”

“To be expected.”

“Precisely why I asked him, yes. I went today when you saw Mrs Godfrey, to the solicitor Mr Parker recommended. Then just an hour ago, right before I saw you in the hallway, he offered me a different sort of job with him. Not as a servant.”

“Oh! In Sanditon?”

“No, here in London.”

“Did you accept?”

“Not yet. He told me to think on it for a time.”

“Then… it seems everything has changed for you, all in the blink of an eye.”

“Yes.” He looked at her now and smiled. “But I must tell you Miss Heywood, now it is you who appears to have seen a ghost.”

“Do I? It must be the fading light. We should return now.”

He stood and offered her his hand. She could very well stand without assistance and he knew it, but she took it gladly and was quite certain he held it far tighter than he ever had before.

“Children? Come along,” she called. They raced over, a bit disheveled. She tidied them up, straightening coats and hats, and the four of them walked back, two and two. She hoped he would offer her his arm. He did not, as it would not have been proper. But he wanted to.

**The Twenty-Eighth of December, 1836**

_London_

“What the devil is _he_ doing here?” Sidney hissed to Babington. There making his entrance with another haughty looking dandy was Oscar Hatton.

“My good man, I have no idea. Perhaps Esther invited the other fellow.” Tonight was the annual winter ball at Babington’s opulent Old Queen Street mansion in St James.

“I say we nip it in the bud,” said Sidney as he scanned the room first for his wife, then his sister-in-law. Charlotte was with Susan, across the room in a group of ladies. Elizabeth was on dance floor in the arms of one of her admirers. She seemed surprisingly at ease this evening. Charlotte assumed it came from increased confidence, and in a manner of speaking, it did. An entire week had passed since Susan’s soiree, and not one of the young men had sought Elizabeth out. She knew if one of them truly felt an inclination to pursue her, he already would have, given the number of them in supposed competition. No, it was simply a game, and she would play it just as they did and enjoy herself.

Sidney and Babington did pursue, however, one Mr Hatton. Babington approached him and asked to speak, pulling him off to a corner of the room while Sidney stood watch, his arms crossed and face set in stone. “I do not know how you came to be in my house, but I assure you I take no pleasure in seeing you here," Babington said icily. "If you make any attempts to speak to Mr Parker’s family, or make any untoward remarks, I will encourage him to finish what his son started, and it will not end well for you. If you annoy anyone else, the pleasure of knocking you about will be all mine. I will also make certain every man in London knows a boy of twelve put you out cold in two blows. Do I make myself clear?”

Hatton straightened his cravat. “You do.”

“My advice would be that you simply leave now.”

“I have just arrived.”

“Yes, and you will now leave out the same door if you know what’s good for you.”

And with that, Lord Babington left him to contemplate his choices. Sidney Parker gave Oscar Hatton one last warning glare before turning and walking away with his friend. Hatton made a wise choice that evening. Eleven years later he did not, when after winning big at the tables, he visited his favorite brothel and called for his preferred girl, barely eighteen, clever and ambitious. After abusing her, as was his way, she could take no more and shoved a knife through his ribs. He died, sputtering and helpless, in a matter of minutes. He had bought her for the night, so no one would come to look until morning. She gathered everything of value he had, a substantial amount of money, diamond rings and other jewelry, a solid gold watch, and slipped away unseen.

She ended up in America, Richmond, Virginia to be exact. Three years later, having transformed herself into an elegant young lady from Kent, all alone in the world, she traveled to New York, where she met a young man living comfortably on the last of his late mother’s inheritance and a trust from his late grandfather, a banking tycoon. His father had been an English Baronet who became incapacitated after a vicious attack in London. When he finally succumbed to his injuries, his son became Sir Richard Denham.

**The Fourth of January, 1837**

_Sanditon_

“Mama,” said Aaron standing beside his mother seated at the breakfast table, “there is something you must do.”

“Oh, and what is it?”

“You must finish the locket,” he replied, gently taking the gold heart in his hand. “You must put Imogen’s hair inside.” He gazed at her in utmost earnest. Since Imogen’s arrival six months ago, the two had become inseparable.

She looked to Sidney, who met her eyes knowingly. They had discussed that very thing the night before, along with Roland’s decision to take the position Sidney had offered him, and Elizabeth’s seemingly newfound ease with the family and herself.

“Yes, you are right,” she said, “before Jay returns to school. You have permission to fetch a pair of scissors from Papa’s desk. Carry them back properly, and…”

“Do not run,” completed Aaron. He scampered off.

Charlotte set her plate aside and beckoned Imogen to her. Sidney rose and stood behind his wife, unclasping the chain and taking it from her neck. He opened the locket and set it down on the table, just as Aaron returned with the scissors.

Imogen gaped at the open locket in fascination. “You see,” Charlotte said, “we’ll put you right there between Justine and Aaron.” Everyone crowded around as she snipped a tiny tuft from the bottom of Imogen’s auburn plait, then carefully placed it in the locket.

Aaron pointed out the different locks of hair to Imogen, and how they all curled in the shape of the heart, the boys on one side, the girls on the other. “This is Papa, then Jay, Adam, me, then you, Justine, Amelia, and Mama.”

“What do the words say?” she asked.

Sidney, with his hands on Charlotte’s shoulders, spoke them with quiet tenderness: “Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever us.”

“So I am part of _us_ , now?” asked Imogen.

“Of course you are,” said the chorus in reply.

Charlotte closed the little window over the keepsake locks, and then the heart itself. Imogen ran her finger over the raised forget-me-nots with their turquoise centers. “What are these little blue stones?”

“Turquoise. All the way from Persia,” said Sidney. “The symbol for lasting love.” He took the two ends of the chain and fastened it around Charlotte’s neck. She looked up at him, her eyes glistening as he leaned down to kiss her. The children, accustomed to displays of affection between their parents, cheered and clapped, for now it was official, Imogen was one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The heart locket, one of the main symbols in the story, makes its first appearance in Chapter 17 of The Brothers.
> 
> Wishing you all a happy, healthy, love-filled 2021, and above all, the return to better times for all of us.


	75. Part 2 -- Endings & Beginnings

TWO YEARS LATER.

**The Fourth of January, 1839**

_Sanditon_

The slate gray winter sky melded with the color of the sea at the horizon, broken only by the roiling froth of the waves. Frosty air promised snow. Steam billowed from Jack’s nostrils as Sidney kept him to a trot along the cliff path, certain he knew where his boy would be. He snorted at the thought – his _boy_ was eighteen, the same age he had been when he left for Antigua. Up ahead, Titan stood waiting. Sidney reached him, dismounted and tied Jack nearby. Down at the stone outcropping, the talking spot, Jay sat motionless, staring out at the steely panorama before him. Sidney wrapped his coat about himself when he reached Jay, taking a seat beside him.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he said over the sea’s rumble.

“You need not worry. I would rather be alone.”

“Yes, I’m sure you would, but it’s blasted cold, certain to snow, and soon to be dark. Your mother is worried, and frankly, so am I.” He could not tell if Jay had been crying or the cold wind had left his eyes tearing and his nose red. A bit of both, he thought. “It would help, I think, if you talked about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. She will marry him. End of story. She’ll go to India and be a young bride to some rich old man. All _arranged_ , you know.” He spat out the last words.

“I don’t suppose it will make any difference if I remind you I know _exactly_ how you feel, and to make matters worse, I was officially engaged. I had asked; she had accepted; her parents had approved. Same circumstance, though. Young woman, wealthy older man. Only it was I who left the country, after a rampage that caused great concern in my family. I never saw my parents again, as you know. I wasn’t here when they died. I would have been if I’d not been such a fool.”

“I told you; you need not worry. I will not do anything foolish.” He continued to stare at the sea, refusing to look at his father.

“Jay, not worrying is not possible, even though I do believe you have far more sense than I did back then. You are your mother’s son as much as mine, thank God.” Jay said nothing. After a few moments, his father continued. “She wrote a letter, just as Emmy did. I know it is not easy, being unable to plead your case in person, but you should realize it would make no difference.”

He turned to his father now, an expression of fury and frustration. “All of her talk about the rights of women and freedom from the tyranny of men! And what the hell does she do? Marry some man she’s never even met. Sold herself to the highest bidder.”

“The traditions of her mother’s country…”

“She called them barbarous when it came to women! I do not understand it. It isn’t as if I am a pauper who could never have given her a good life. I thought we would wait until I finished at Oxford, until we were older. What a fool I am.”

“You are not a fool. Listen to me – she was not meant to be your wife, just as Eliza was not meant to be mine. Yes, I had to wait nearly ten years to meet the true love of my life, but I would wait a _hundred_ years for her if I had to do it again. Yours is waiting for you, my boy, somewhere, I promise you that. The woman who is meant for you is yet to be discovered. Trust me.”

“I wish I could.”

He shook his head. “I once gave this advice to another, and for what it’s worth, I give it to you. At this moment, your world feels undone. I know that. But put her from your mind or you will go mad.”

“And think of what? What else is there?”

“Your studies…”

“During which I will see her brother near every day…”

“Was he not your friend first? Was her decision his fault?”

“Of course not. He’s a reminder, can’t you see?”

“Only if you let him be.”

“He resembles her!”

“Then I suppose you have to cut him off as a friend, as you are unable to separate the two.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“I did not think so.” They looked into the distance again. “Your brother needs your care now.”

“Who? Adam?”

“Yes.”

“He does not.”

“He does. He is struggling his first year.”

“Adam is made of iron. He never struggles.”

“There you are wrong. He would be quite relieved if he could confide in you. It’s different than with me. He looks up to you more than you know. He watches you, and he will pay very close attention to how you recover from this blow. Aaron as well.”

“I had not thought of that.”

“It is difficult to accept one’s fate at times. I ask you to do only one thing. Do not close yourself off, as I did. Keep your heart open. Yes, you have been hurt, and you may be hurt again. But each time, you are made stronger. If you shut your heart away, you might fail to spot true love when it knocks on your door. I nearly did with your mother. I tried to drive her away at first, the woman who is now my very reason for breathing.”

Jay turned and stared at this father. “Why?”

“I was terrified to love again. To be hurt again.” He put his arm around his son, as both of them were shivering. “You will find her, Jay, I promise you. Look at Michael, he’s thirty now, and finally found love. See how fate wove its way through his life? His unexpected inheritance. My needing a new man in London. All the pieces fell into place, just at the time Elizabeth came to us, and to him. No matter how long you must wait, she will be worth it.”

He nodded and leaned against his father. “I’m cold.”

“As am I. Shall we head home?”

###

Charlotte closed her dressing room door as the maid finished warming the bed and curtsied her good night. Sidney closed his book and shut the lamp, then stood and stretched.

“Still snowing?” Charlotte asked.

“Last I looked. Come on, let’s get in while it’s warm.”

They shed their dressing gowns and hurried under the covers. “Wool stockings?” he asked.

“My feet are like ice. Shall I put them on you to thaw?” she asked with a smirk.

“Not until _I’m_ warm.” They settled in and cuddled, her back to his front. “I think he would have frozen to that rock if I had not gone to fetch him.”

“Finish telling me what happened.”

“Where did I leave off?”

“John.”

“Ah, yes… John resembles her, therefore he will find no solace in his studies.”

“John wrote to Amelia about it.”

“Did she tell you what he said?”

“Some. Emmy was under tremendous pressure from the uncle and therefore her mother, as the man is an old friend of the family. Emmy believes she will be able to accomplish changes for women in India as a wealthy one herself. John says he is not so certain.”

“Yes, Emmy said the same to Jay. Not about being uncertain, but the rest. Nevertheless, he feels betrayed, and I fully understand it. But they were not engaged. Nothing was formal between them.”

She sighed and snuggled deeper into his arms. “He has such a tender heart, loves so easily, always has.”

“He’ll recover, I’m sure of it. I cannot begin to tell you how strange it is to relive this with my own son. He is far too levelheaded to do anything foolish, though. I spoke to him of fate and asked him not to close himself off, as I did back then. To put her from his mind and give some attention to his brother for the time being.”

“What did he think of that?”

“ _Adam is made of iron_ , he said. I wish he were.”

“Yes, what to do about Adam? He had been so excited to go at first. Now he’s miserable. If he cannot adjust by the end of the year, perhaps we should not send him back. Tutor him here.”

“I’ve thought the same. Had Anthony or George gone, it might have been different. He doesn’t have Jay’s ease at making friends. I was lucky, as Crowe, Babington, and I were all in the same house and made fast friends. Adam has not had the same good fortune. No comrades to quell the loneliness.”

“But you have spoken to him about all this, have you not?”

“I have. It’s a shock to suddenly find yourself amid boys from all over the country, gentlemen’s sons and the sons of peers. There’s a great deal of jostling for power and position among the boys, and often the masters are no help. Adam can be misread, as we know, for he can appear to be a brooding loner, when inside he’s aching for companionship. I truly hope Jay has a talk with him.”

She turned a bit to look at him. “What I fear is that he will insist on going back because he will see _not_ going as failure. You finished; Jay did as well. His feelings of being second rate will rear their ugly head.”

“I thought that as well.” He paused for a moment. “Is it not boring that we always think alike?”

She rolled fully to face him, tucking her arms against his chest. “We don’t always. But after nearly twenty years, it’s to be expected, is it not?”

“Hm… twenty years.” He reached up and ran his finger down her cheek to her chin. “You are even more beautiful now.”

She smiled, rubbing his nose with hers. “You need your spectacles.”

“I speak the truth. Your beauty has always been far more than your infinitely lovely face. It’s your warm heart, and your courage, and your brilliant mind. And now you have all the wisdom of a mother and a wife. I told Jay I waited ten years for you but I would have waited a hundred.”

“And I would wait a hundred years for you.”

“We’d both be quite old.”

“But very much in love.”

“How are those feet of yours? Still ice?”

“They’re better.”

“Shall finish warming them?” He disappeared under the covers without waiting for an answer.

“Sidney…” She began to giggle after a moment. “You are tickling me.”

“Am I?” came the muffled reply. “I’m warming your feet.” Shortly after he emerged triumphant with her two stockings, tossing them over his shoulder to the end of the bed. Then lifting himself atop her he said, “Now I’ll keep you warm.”

“Since you took my stockings off, you’ll have to,” she smiled innocently.

“Do you find me less efficient than wool?” He traveled kisses along her jaw and up to her ear.

“Hmmm… let me think.”

“You have to think? I _must_ be getting old.”

“No,” she whispered, reaching under his nightshirt to take hold of his firm haunches and pull him to her. “We are not old. We’re simply ending one stage and beginning the next.”

He brushed his lips against hers. “Then we agree, the best is yet to be? That all we’ve done in the first half is leading to the second?”

Her reply was a nod followed by a soft sigh.

**The Fifth of January, 1839**

_Sanditon_

“In the six years I’ve been here Mrs Parker, I’ve never seen you wear a nightcap. It would make your hair much easier to arrange in the morning.”

Charlotte did not have the heart to tell Kellow that Mr Parker would remove any nightcap she might wear. “I prefer the plait at night. And the style I’m wearing these days is much simpler.”

Indeed it was, and so very fashionable even the Queen wore a similar one. Charlotte parted hers slightly off center, the front hair from the temples forward held separate while the back was pulled into a braided coil in the center. Afterward, the front sections were smoothed over the ears and wrapped around the bun. In a nod to decorum for a lady her age, she had begun to wear open lace snoods that attached above the bun and fell charmingly around the back of her head to her shoulders. 

“Yes, it is, and I’m almost finished, ma’am. Some ladies stay in bed half the day, or at least in their chambers in their nightclothes. You’re always up and about unless you feel under the weather. Did your mother do the same?”

“Well, you were not with me when I had the children, as back then I might stay in bed or my chamber because of queasiness or worse. But yes, my mother was up at first light. There were fourteen of us, and an estate to run. We had many tenant farmers, but my father still worked a plot of land himself. There were always chores to be done and even with servants, we still did many of them. No time to luxuriate in bed for half a day. Habit, I suppose, but I also enjoy breakfast with my family. I would miss out on so many discussions if I were not at the table.”

“Makes perfect sense to me, ma’am.”

And there was a discussion flying about the table when she arrived, but she did not hear it at first. Her cherub, Aaron, and his beloved angel, Imogen, were surreptitiously passing pieces of salty breakfast meat to Rascal under the table, ceasing instantly when they saw her in the doorway. Such behavior had been forbidden the day Rascal vomited all over the fine old Kidderminster carpet the rich food those two had fed him. Instead he had his own special meal twice daily made of plain cooked meat mixed with a bit of wheat or oat porridge and milk, cooked potatoes, carrots, or other vegetables added. He had no shortage of bones to gnaw on and treats such as a boiled egg or apple slices.

Yes, Charlotte had lost the Rascal battle, but not the war. Once he was housetrained, she could not continue to object to his presence inside. The dog was, however, bathed regularly by Aaron with Imogen’s assistance, and a tincture of Quassia combed into his fur when groomed. He was allowed entry to the house only through the back mud room where he was toweled off if wet and his paws always wiped because _Heaven only knows what he’s stepped in!_ Charlotte would say in the exact same voice as her own mother. He was barred from all furniture save Aaron’s bed, where a special blanket was placed. Besides, he had his own bed, a perfect sized flannel cup stuffed with hay and rags, nestled into a low willow basket. And with those measures, she managed to keep the insects from the house, for the most part. Aaron occasioned a flea bite or two.

Rascal was a terrier, and terriers dig and hunt small animals, so in time, he was banned from the kitchen garden after digging up all Mr Whitcomb’s spring radishes, and anywhere near the chickens after he killed two of the best egg layers, and the hothouse for good measure. And heaven help him if he was found digging in Mama’s rose garden… But other than that, Rascal was firmly entrenched in the Parker household, a treaty between Aaron and his mother in full force. And besides, she was fond of the little dog despite his bad habits.

“Good morning my loves,” she said as she crossed to the sideboard. A round of _Good morning, Mama_ followed and a wink from Sidney, which he always thought no one else saw, but everyone did.

Now the conversation resumed, Elizabeth and Amelia in a hot argument over the latest installment of _Oliver Twist_ , with Justine protesting that talking about someone’s murder, even if fictional, was _not_ proper subject matter for the breakfast table. Sidney agreed and changed the subject that the new docks in Southampton were coming along, and read aloud from an article in the paper.

“You aren’t contemplating moving the business to Southampton are you?” asked Charlotte.

“But Michael has just finished moving the office and hiring a new man…” echoed Elizabeth.

“No, no, calm down ladies. I am speaking of change in general. In a few years when the docks are complete and the railway runs all the way from Portsmouth to London, Southampton will be an ideal place to move the business. But not now.”

“You’d have to transport the wine anyway,” said Charlotte.

“Precisely.”

“We’ve been debating whether to lease or buy after the wedding,” said Elizabeth.

“Rest assured, I am not moving the business to Southampton any time soon.”

Jay and Adam were both strangely quiet, both with long faces. Jay reached out to his brother sitting beside him and clasped his shoulder. “Would you like to ride this afternoon?”

“Do you think the snow will be gone?”

“Bright sun now. It should be, mostly anyway.”

“Let’s then.”

“Right.”

“Ah,” said their mother, “it sounds like a good plan.”

TEN MONTHS LATER.

**The Eleventh of October, 1839**

_Oxford_

The tutors were piling on the work. Now in his second year, Jay knew expectations had risen even higher. He set out for his preferred tea shop with Euclid’s _The Elements_ , knowing he often concentrated better in noise than he did in silence. A small table for two was open in a corner and he asked for it. When he pulled out the chair, a small pamphlet rested there. He took it in hand and settled in… Caroline Norton. Yes, Amelia was an enthusiast of her writing. _A Plain Letter to the Lord Chancellor on the Infant Custody Bill_ was the title. It was in fact quite lengthy for a pamphlet, and he flipped through the pages, coming to the end where the publisher advertised other works. A pamphlet about railways written for civil engineers caught his eye, thinking of John. He ordered his tea and was ready to set the booklet aside.

“I believe that belongs to me.”

He looked up into the face of a stylishly dressed young lady who had her hand extended.

He jumped to standing. “Oh. Excuse me. It was on the chair when I sat down.”

“Yes, so sorry. I must have dropped it.”

“My… my sister is an avid follower of Mrs Norton’s writing.” He handed it to her.

“Is she?”

“Indeed, she is.”

“Are you?”

“I confess, I have not read much, but I do know of the cause, thanks to my sister, of course. I had noticed one of the advertisements, for my friend. He’s interested in engineering and railways.”

“I see. You are a student?”

“I am. Second year.”

“College?”

“Wadham.”

“My father is a professor at Trinity.”

“Oh. What subject?”

“Mathematics.” Before he could comment she continued. “Well, Mr…”

“Parker. Jay Parker.”

“Mr Parker, thank you for keeping my pamphlet safe until I returned for it.” She nodded to his book on the table. “I wish you happy reading. One of my father’s favorites.”

He fully saw her now that his surprise had abated. Tall and stately, almost commanding. Wide blue eyes with a touch of brown around the pupils. Straight Grecian nose. Perfect bow lips. Honey blonde hair, much the color of Justine’s. “Ah, yes, thank you, Miss…”

“Sinclair.”

“Miss Sinclair.” He stood looking at her rather stupidly he thought later.

“Well, good day,” she said, turning and heading for the door.

He remained immobile, dumbstruck. Then he went after her, calling out as she walked down the street. “Miss Sinclair?”

She stopped and turned. “Mr Parker?”

“I.. I..” He stammered now, walking towards her. “I was negligent in returning your good day. Do you come to this shop often?”

“On occasion.”

“Ah, well. I hope to see you again.” There. He’d said it. Inappropriate, but nevertheless true.

A small smile crept across her lips. “You never know. Such is fate. Good day again.”

This time he bowed. “Good day to you, Miss Sinclair.” She turned and continued down the street, opening her parasol as she walked. He watched her, wondering if she would look back. As she reached the corner, turning to the right, she did, seeming surprised to see him still watching. She smiled and nodded, then continued on her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added after posting and I will on the next chapter as well for those who have already read: The relationship between Britain and India is clearly a complex one, and I am not remotely a historical expert. While Britain did help to abolish some practices such as "widow-burning," they also created an entire class of indentured servants among the lower castes of Indian people. As with all colonial history, (American, French, Spanish, etc) the British as colonizers were no different, and took far more than they gave.  
> As far as Emmy here in the story, arranged marriages were and still are quite common all over the world -- they certainly were in Britain. It is not my intention to denigrate any cultural practices of other countries, and I apologize if I gave that impression.
> 
> Here's to a happy, healthy 2021!


	76. All that Fate Allows

**The Eighteenth of October, 1839**

_Sanditon_

_~*~_

_And such my dear Amelia, is the news regarding yours truly. I remain hopeful that a position with the GRW and Mr Brunel is likely next year. That my father is acquainted with him is more than helpful. Working on the project would not only afford a tremendous amount of experience in tunnels and bridges as well as railway engineering, but keep me employed for another decade or so to come, as the railway lines continue to expand._

_Now on a side note (or two if you will indulge me), I am happy to report my dear friend and your beloved brother appears to be on the mend. Recently he made an acquaintance of a young lady, and once and for all has ceased nursing his broken heart, or so it seems. Instead, he has been searching high and low for a way to be formally introduced to her, and dragged me with him to a ball at the local assembly room on Ship Street, hoping she would be in attendance (she was not). I, for one, am glad to see it, to have my old friend back, and wish him every success in his endeavor. Speaking of dancing, as you will be 17 years next summer, will you attend the balls in Sanditon? If so, I claim my two dances!_

_My mother is expected to return from India in a few days’ time. I have also heard from my sister, who still believes she made the right decision. I tell you because Jay has no wish to hear, but maybe someday you will tell him. As I told you previously, the choice was hers and in the end, it had far more to do with family than anything else. I truly do not believe she fully understood Jay’s intentions, as he never claimed her, so to speak. She knew he was fond of her, but I believe she mistook it as more of a brotherly affection._

_To avoid the same happening between you and me, let me state, here and now, my affection for you is most decidedly not brotherly, and whenever you are ready, be it next year or in five years, I will gladly ask permission to court you, unless of course, that is not your desire. All I ask is for you to remain honest with me. And knowing you as I hope I do, I believe you will._

_Well, I must close, as Mathematics coursework waits for no man. Do write soon. I cannot tell you how it cheers my day to see your familiar hand in the day’s mail._

_Yours,_

_John_

_~*~_

Amelia found her mother in the private sitting room off the master chamber. She looked up from her writing desk at the sound of her daughter’s knock.

“Come in, my heart. What’s on your mind?”

“Do you write to Adam?” Amelia asked as she seated herself.

“No, Alison. _Should_ I be writing to Adam? He has a leave soon and will be home in a few days.”

“I saw he sent a letter, I thought perhaps…”

“Came today?”

“Yes, Papa has it.”

“Ah, I’ll speak to him after then.”

“Mama… I will be seventeen in twelve weeks. And by the summer balls, seventeen and a half. I was wondering…”

“If you could attend?”

“Phoebe was allowed at seventeen.”

“Curious, your father and I were just speaking of that very thing a few nights ago. Yes, we do think it’s time, and good preparation for the Season afterward.”

She scrunched up her nose in distaste. “Must I endure a Season? Phoebe hated her first, and now she must have a second. She’s quite demoralized you know.”

“Honestly, Amelia, I believe Phoebe may be a bit overly dramatic, at least her mother thinks so. And Susan will wish to present you to the world; Papa and I have no objections. See how you feel after the summer.”

“Would you object if John Conrad came for the summer balls? I received a letter from him asking about it.”

“I don’t believe either of us would object. I assume he will ask properly when the time comes. How is he, by the way?”

“He hopes to have a position with the Great Western Railway next year. He spoke to Mr Brunel himself.”

“My! Sounds promising.”

“Indeed. And his mother is returning from India and the wedding.”

“Hm, such a very long journey. Both times we met her and Mr Conrad, they were lovely to us. I hold nothing against them. Anything of Emmy?”

“Yes, that she stands by her decision.”

She sat back in her chair and folded her hands. “It is over and done. I do hope Jay will finally come to accept it.”

“John did say _something_ about Jay…” She gave a sly grin.

“Oh? And dare you repeat it?” her mother asked with raised eyebrows.

“Well… Jay’s heart seems on the mend.”

“Good news. How does John determine this?”

“Jay made a recent informal acquaintance of a young lady that he is now desperately attempting to make formal.”

“Who is she?”

“He did not say. I suppose we must wait to hear it from Jay.”

“In good time. The last thing I wish to do is rush him.” She set aside her letter and capped the inkwell, stood and smoothed her skirt. “This spring, we will bring in the Dance master to teach us all the newest steps and forms, and we will order new gowns for you.” She lifted Amelia’s chin. “You shall be the prettiest young lady there.”

“Oh, Mama, you are predisposed to think so.”

“Wait and see. You will dance the entire night, I have no doubt. Now, I will see your father about this letter from Adam.”

Sidney was ensconced at his desk behind ledgers and piles of papers, muttering to himself. His mood lightened when she opened the door. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, removing his spectacles and nearly tossing them down on the ledger.

She closed the door and crossed to the desk as he pushed his chair back and opened his arm.

“What is it?” she asked, settling onto his lap. “Adam?”

“Adam?”

“He sent a letter?”

“Ah, I haven’t even looked at it. All this paperwork arrived from Michael.”

“But we just returned from two weeks in London. Why all the paperwork now?”

He shook his head. “One of the suppliers has been cheating us for some time. Michael discovered and documented it. It goes back years.”

_“Truly?”_

“Sadly, yes.”

“Did you just now find out?”

“No, Michael was already looking into it when we left. It isn’t a supplier I use with great frequency, which is why it slipped by unnoticed. Apparently Barwick was in on it. He was quite clever in his concealment.”

“Your man from before.” 

He nodded affirmative. “I knew he was up to something.”

“Was it a great deal of money?”

“No, that would have caught my attention immediately, but small sums add up. Overcharging slightly here, falsifying a line on invoices there… it isn’t the amount of course, but the principle, and that I cannot _believe_ I did not catch it, as fastidious as I fancy myself to be.”

“Will you turn them over to the authorities?”

“Most likely. I must comb through all of it first, make my case. Michael has proven his worth yet again.”

“Can I help you with it?”

“Would you? All the figures need to be checked.” He sighed heavily and waved his hand across the paper strewn desk. “Adam’s letter is here somewhere.”

“I will find it. You look terribly tired. Perhaps you should stop for now. Do you have any current orders with this supplier?”

“I do not, thankfully, and will not ever again.”

She kneaded the back of his neck and he closed his eyes and sighed again.

“I have some good news about Jay.”

“Hmmm,” he replied without opening his eyes, leaning back into her hands.

“He is interested in another young lady.”

His eyes fluttered open. “How do you know?”

“John wrote Amelia.”

“Did he say who?”

“No. It seems Jay met her in passing somewhere and is attempting to be formally introduced.”

He shifted in the large chair to pull her closer. “What have we done, Charlotte? Who are these people we’ve created and set loose on the world?”

She laughed softly and ran her fingers through his hair now, rubbing his head, causing him to close his eyes and sigh yet again. “You need not worry, my love. They are all rational beings, good and kind. Not a bad one among them.”

He looked at her with heavy lids. “Shall we read Adam’s letter to make certain?” He leaned over and dug around under the papers. “Ah, here it is.” He handed it to her. “You read it.”

Babington’s son Anthony had not attended Winchester, and at sixteen, he would soon be ready for the university. Marcus, however, six months younger than Adam, had insisted on going away to school this year. Crowe sent his son, Robert, and now Adam had two friends from home join him. By the end of the previous year, he had become close to several older boys who had been friends with Jay, members of the pugilism club he had formed. Adam had traversed the gamut from no friends at all, to numerous chums of various ages. And as he excelled in his studies, his parents’ concern for him had all but ceased.

Charlotte read the letter aloud, with Sidney nodding and occasionally commenting, mostly with his eyes closed.

“ _And I must tell you, I recently discovered Isaac Stringer is also here this year. He’s in the same house as Robert. He’s a good fellow, and a very good cricketer, as we already knew. Now he has joined our merry band of misfits._ ”

“Hm, Stringer’s son. I never pegged him for a Winchester sort.”

“There’s more. _It seems his grandfather is an Old Wykehamist, and Isaac has large shoes to fill, as do we all. So we simply said, ‘Welcome to the club.’”_

“Interesting. Named after one grandfather and having to live up to the other. The things we do to our children.”

“I wish you would not dislike him so.”

“I don’t dislike him. I simply don’t want him anywhere near you.”

“Sidney… you have nothing to fear.”

“Is that so?” He looked at her in mock concern. “Swear to me you are mine forever.”

She took his face in her hands, first kissing his forehead. “I swear.” Then both his eyes. “I swear.” Then his nose. “I swear.” His lips. “I swear.” The other direction. “I swear.” And all the way up his jaw to his ear where she breathed, “I swear Sidney Parker, I am yours forever. Are you mine?”

“You know I am.”

“Will you show me?”

“Not here, not now. _Later_.”

“Later?” She nuzzled into his neck.

“Later, when I have the room and all the time I need.”

“And what will you do?”

He held the back of her head in his hand, raising her face to his. Then he kissed her again and again, soft and light as a feather. “You know exactly what I will do.”

**The Twenty-Sixth of October, 1839**

_Oxford_

“Conrad! She is here!”

Jay had enlisted his friend to accompany him to yet another ball at the Long Room on Ship Street.

“Where?”

“Over there!” He indicated with his head and eyes.

“The tall one?”

“Yes… is she not exquisite?”

“Who is she speaking to? Isn’t that old Rumfelt, the tutor?”

“Egad, you’re right! It’s my chance. How do I look?”

John outright laughed. “Like a perfectly respectable besotted young man. Go now, before someone else asks her to dance.”

John marveled at the confidence his friend exuded as he crossed the room, knowing full well how unnerved Jay was on the inside. Jay, on the other hand, marveled at nothing other than the image of Miss Sinclair. He stopped and stood slightly behind and to the side of his former tutor, waiting for his moment, when she all but stole it from him. Her eyes shifted from Rumfelt to Jay, who was sure he saw a glimmer of surprise in them. Then she smiled and spoke.

“Why, Mr Parker, how nice to see you again.”

Jay was certain his jaw dropped. Rumfelt turned from the lady to the young man and sputtered at bit. “Mr Parker. You are acquainted with Miss Sinclair?”

“Not formally, Mr Rumfelt. Perhaps you could do me the honors?”

“What do you mean, not formally?”

“Allow me to explain, Uncle Andrew. Mr Parker assisted me in finding a book I had left in Magpie’s Tea Room. We exchanged a few pleasantries afterward.”

“I see,” Rumfelt harrumphed, then pulling her aside he asked, “A bit improper, Lora. And do you _wish_ an introduction?”

“Do you not recommend him, Uncle?”

“No, no, not that. He’s a fine young man, good family, good scholar… just making certain.”

“I do wish.”

“Very well.” He led her back to where Jay stood. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr Jay Parker. Mr Parker, my niece, Miss Loretta Sinclair.”

 _Loretta_ … her name was Loretta. For two weeks he’d gone through endless mental contortions wondering what her name could be. He found his voice, finally, and bowed. “Miss Sinclair, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She answered with a fetching smile and a small curtsy.

“And how are your studies proceeding this year, Parker?” Rumfelt asked.

“Very well, sir, thank you for asking,” Jay answered without taking his eyes off the man’s niece. “Would you allow me to ask Miss Sinclair for the next dance, Mr Rumfelt?”

Again the man harrumphed. “Not up to me.”

Jay acknowledged with a nod. “Miss Sinclair, may I have the next dance?”

“You may.”

He offered his hand. She placed hers lightly atop. He looked at her uncle. “Mr Rumfelt, a pleasure to see you again.”

Rumfelt nodded his reply.

“Forgive my uncle,” she said as they walked away. “He’s rather protective.”

“As he should be,” he replied. They stood at the edge of the dance floor, waiting. “I’ve returned several times to the tea room.”

“Have you?”

He decided to venture a bit further. “Yes, hoping you might be there.”

“I confess, I have visited once or twice myself.”

“For the same reason, if I may be so bold to ask?”

“You may certainly ask, but I will not necessarily tell.” She looked at him briefly with a tinge of a smile.

“Touché.”

“Do you excel in the sport of fencing, Mr Parker?”

He gazed directly at her now. He barely had to tilt his head down, so tall was she. He thought how advantageous it would be for kissing her. “So I have been told.”

“And in what other sports do you participate?”

“Well, I have been riding since I was a very small boy. Cricket, of course. Pugilism…”

“Boxing? Where did you learn?”

“My father. I started a Pugilism club at Winchester to teach it.”

“Intriguing. And rowing?”

“Yes, of course.”

“That’s it,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied, believing she referred to the music ending. They moved to a spot in an open set with three other couples for a cotillion.

She looked at him in earnest as they stood in the square of eight. “I have been searching my memory for two weeks now trying to remember where I saw you before. It was in Sanditon, at the regatta this past summer.”

His eyes widened. “What?” The music began, as did the bows, fancy footwork and rotations of two couples joining in the center, then into two lines of four. His mind raced and he forced himself to remember the steps. Now he had a new partner and she was with another… then back to him again; there was no chance to speak. He focused on dancing elegantly and watching her out of the corner of his eye. She herself danced beautifully, towering over the other women and one of the men.

With the dance finished, he gave her his arm to escort her back to her uncle and had just begun to muster his thoughts to ask her about Sanditon when a waltz was called. He stopped mid-step and turned to her. “May I claim my second dance?”

She smiled enchantingly. “I believe you may.”

They turned and resumed a place on the dance floor. After bowing, he held out his hand for hers and pulled her close, too close he knew, with his hand about her waist. She did not pull away, resting her hand on his shoulder. “It’s quite nice to have a partner taller than I am,” she said as he guided her around the floor.

“I quite like having a tall partner myself.” He took a moment to luxuriate in the closeness of her, her scent, her warmth, her eyes focused on his. “You must tell me about last summer in Sanditon.”

“Your boat won the gentlemen’s rowing race. I knew I had seen you somewhere.”

“But you were in Sanditon. I’m from Sanditon.”

She tilted her head, as if to assess him. “Yes, I gathered. You’re one of the Parkers. Your family built the resort, did it not?”

“Well, yes, but have you been there before?”

“Three times altogether.”

“That was the first time I’d been at the regatta in four years, as the Winchester term always overlapped… I cannot believe you were there.”

“It was very crowded, so I am not surprised you did not see me,” she said with a teasing smile.

“Your entire family was there?”

“Well, my father, mother and me. My older brother and sister are both married and did not accompany us. Is the regatta event always so crowded? That was our first.”

“Ah, it was the twentieth anniversary, so my Uncle Tom created quite an affair. He and my cousin and other uncle, my mother's brother. It was my mother who came up with the idea for the very first regatta. For years, she also oversaw the ladies sale that happens the day before. Truth be told, that has always been the more successful event.” He realized he was rambling. “Forgive me, no doubt the ins and outs of Sanditon do not interest you.”

“Is that what you will do in the future? Run Sanditon?”

“Ah, no, that is the domain of the Tom Parker family. My father is Sidney Parker, the man who managed all the finances and construction. His business is import export.”

“In Sanditon?”

“The business is in London, but he largely runs it from Sanditon, yes.”

“Fascinating.”

“Is it? Or are you saying so to humor me?” He gave her a wry smile.

“Fascinating that you can carry on this conversation and still dance with such ease.” Her smile nearly stopped his heart, her pink bow lips curling up at the corners to show her pearly teeth with one in the front slightly off straight, charmingly so.

He returned it with a grin that he hoped conveyed what he thought, and distinctly saw her eyelids flutter. “Let us just dance then, and enjoy it,” he said, affirming his hold on her waist.

Sadly when the music finished, he escorted her back, but stopped again just before they reached Rumfelt. “May I be permitted to call on you?”

She looked down, then back up at him. “I would enjoy it.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow? After services?”

“Where?”

She reached into her tiny beaded reticule and retrieved her calling card, handing it to him. “Until tomorrow, Mr Parker.”

He left her with her uncle, who proclaimed it was time to depart. He stood watching, and this time she did not appear surprised when she turned back.

John had already left, he knew. Jay had caught his eye sometime out on the dance floor and received the sign that meant _you’re on your own_. He walked back to Wadham, the rhythm of his shoes against the cobbles his sole companion, the cold night air invigorating. He thought of Emmy just then. John had been right – he had never claimed her, why he was not certain. They had both been so young. Perhaps she was more of a sister to him than he realized. How lucky he’d been that John stayed with him, remained his friend. It seemed his father was also right, not that he ever doubted. She was waiting for him. She had already seen him. And now he had discovered her. 


	77. The Twenty-Second Sanditon Summer

EIGHT MONTHS LATER.

**The Fifteenth and Sixteenth of June, 1840**

_On the Road from Oxford and in Sanditon_

Even half asleep on a mail coach seat, John Joseph Arthur Parker cut a striking figure, evidenced in the frequent admiring glances cast his way by the two women occupying the seat across. At nearly twenty years of age, all vestiges of boyhood had left him. His long legs courteously bent to the side, he had crossed his arms over his ample chest and turned his broad shoulders towards the window. Exhausted, he occasionally nodded off as the English countryside passed by.

He wore his thick dark hair parted to the side, long on top with an appealing wave across his forehead and over the ears as was the fashion, with long, well-groomed mutton chops accentuating his strong jaw. Now as he dozed, long curls fell across his brow. Whispering from the other seat woke him. He stifled a yawn and brushed the curls back into place, apologizing to his fellow travelers with a nod.

Loretta, or Lora as her family called her, would arrive in Sanditon next week with her father and mother. The two families would meet for the first time, and the Parkers would finally know Jay’s future wife. Professor Sinclair had given his permission for Jay to court his daughter, and Jay and Lora hoped to wed after he had finished at Oxford and they were both twenty-one, although nothing was official just yet. He needed to finalize with his father what his role would be in the company. Would he make enough to support a wife? Where would they live?

His father would turn forty-nine in October, and Jay knew he had no plans to end his life’s work. Still, the fraud case against the Midlands Company and Barwick appeared to take a toll on him. He received the justice he sought, as did the many others the company had swindled, but he seemed oddly tired of the business now, even though with Michael, he was doing more than ever before.

Finally at Southampton, Jay changed coaches, heading east now for Sanditon. The mail coaches were more expensive, but they were cleaner and faster than the passenger coaches, traveling up to ten miles per hour on occasion, changing horse teams every fifteen miles or so. It was speedier by far than the family carriage, and until the railways were completed, it remained the best way for him to travel to and from Oxford, where John Conrad remained a while longer, as he had final exams to finish. He was determined to be present at the Midsummer ball, and Jay knew full well the reason.

And that reason was waiting for him in the cabriolet when he arrived in Sanditon early the next morning. “Amelia! I hope you did not skip breakfast.”

“Hello, dear brother, not to worry, I have eaten and saved some for you.”

“Are you helping me with my trunk?” he asked in jest.

“Of course.” She set the break and secured the reins, jumping down without hesitation.

“I was teasing. Let me find someone…”

She had hold of one handle and lifted it slightly. “Come on… it isn’t that heavy.”

He shook his head and took the other side. Together they hoisted it up onto the back shelf of the buggy and strapped it down along with his smaller valise. Then they gave each other a proper embrace.

“Where’s all the rest of your belongings?” she asked after they had climbed in and she set the horse to trot.

“Stored away. Mostly winter clothing. No reason to bring it home. I have enough here, and whatever else I may need I can borrow from Papa.” It was true, he and his father were nearly the same size, only Jay was a slight bit taller and his father’s frame was a bit broader.

“You should see the gowns I now have. I attended the opening ball, you know.”

“How was it? Were you nearly trampled by suitors?”

She laughed. “It seemed that way, until they realized my head was not full of air. But they did enjoy dancing with me, as we all had lessons in the newest fashion.”

“Conrad was chomping at the bit to arrive here on time.”

“I hope he isn’t distracted by it. He needs to do well on his exams.”

“He will; I am sure of it. He’s the smartest fellow I know. And how is everyone?”

“Usual. Very excited about meeting Lora and her parents. Did they write you about our new house in London?”

He did a double take. “What? When?”

“Soon. They have deemed Bedford Place too small for all of us, now that Henry is married, and you will be shortly.”

“I am stunned… after all these years.”

“I know, but Papa says he should have done it long ago.”

“Where is it?”

“Not far, just around the corner, really. Bedford Square.”

“Is it large?”

“Three stories with a basement and attic. And a mews.”

“I am quite astonished.”

“Yes, but it does make sense. We were terribly crowded in the old one.”

Dew was still on the grass when they reached the cliff road heading out of town towards home. He filled his lungs with the balm of the sea. One thing on which Uncle Tom was absolutely correct: _Sea air is a tonic._

“We heard from Count Mendorff.” She rolled her eyes. “He and his family will be arriving any day.”

“Here, in Sanditon?”

“Yes, they are in London and decided to come out for the regatta and the ball. I have no doubt at Wilhelm’s urging.”

“So this is not good?”

“I suppose it was inevitable, but I never thought it would happen while John was also here.”

“Don’t bite my head off. I am simply clarifying… you truly are not interested in Wilhelm.”

She gave him a sideling look with pursed lips.

“You look exactly like Mama when you do that, you know.”

“I cannot believe you even asked.” She looked straight ahead again. “Well, whatever will be, will be. I have no ability to stop them from coming.”

“But they will be staying down in Sanditon. John will be with us.” He smirked. “I remain amazed our father continues to allow him.”

“Oh, he has every intention of speaking to John...”

“Most likely the discussion will include descriptions of dismemberment…”

She bumped him with her shoulder, laughing. “You know as well as I do that John is a perfect gentleman.”

Jay smirked again. “Of course he is.”

She looked askance at him. “Do you know something I do not?”

“What I know is that he would face your father _and_ your brothers should he do anything unbecoming of a gentleman.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Whether _you_ like it or not.”

She smacked his leg. “You will pay for that remark.”

“I have no doubt.”

“The one you need to keep an eye on is Wilhelm, if you please.”

“Your wish is my command.”

**The Seventeenth of June, 1840**

_Sanditon_

_He waited, gazing out over the sea. Sensing her approach, he turned to see her coming up over the crest of the cliff path, just as she had been that day, her hair loose and flowing, the white Spencer over her muslin dress. The day he first kissed her and knew his life could never be complete without her._

_He ran to her, took her into his arms. “At last. I was beginning to think you’d never make your escape.”_

_“Has it been that long?” she asked, kissing him sweetly, gently._

_They walked hand in hand to the top of the cliff. And then they were flying over the sea, soaring like birds…_

Darkness still cloaked the room when Sidney opened his eyes, the sensation of soaring fresh in his mind and body. Over the years, the dream had come to him a dozen times or more, always the same, always leaving him feeling liberated, free of earthly constraints. He lay on his back, Charlotte curled up beside him, her breathing soft and steady. She was asleep. He was now fully awake with his thoughts.

First of yesterday’s discussion with Jay and how pleased he was his son wanted to work in the business. He’d never pressed his boys, never demanded they follow in his footsteps. Jay had an Oxford education, after all, he could have chosen from a multitude of professions. Truly it could not come at a better time, as the sheer volume of shipments he juggled now was tiring in itself. He had to make it worth Michael’s while, the man had exceeded his wildest expectations and was now family. Having Jay work alongside him would be nothing short of a gift. He could pass all but the wine venture over to him, and even in that, Jay showed promise, staying with him to learn the entire process last autumn, as the Michaelmas term did not begin until the second week of October.

The whole Midlands debacle still perturbed him at times, despite having been resolved nearly two months ago. Testifying that he, Sidney Parker, had been cheated right under his own nose, even if the sum was relatively small, had been agonizing for him. Nevertheless, he had to do what was right, indeed the other men caught in the fraud scheme considered him a hero, which eased his embarrassment somewhat. Charlotte stood by him throughout, pouring through every piece of paper and all the ledgers, summing and re-summing. Maggie’s husband, Barrister Robert Godfrey’s advice had been invaluable. When Sidney received restitution, 500 pounds, he gave it to Michael as a bonus for uncovering the scheme in the first place. The look on Michael’s face made it all worthwhile.

It was then he and Charlotte decided they could not continue living in the cramped quarters at Bedford Place when in London. Henry had married a young lady he met through Mary’s brother. Jay had announced his intention to wed Lora. And there it was. If Jay were to run the bulk of the business, it would be easier if he lived in London. He and Lora would need appropriate housing, and Sidney would have work done before they moved in to create a second master suite. The new house was large enough for the whole family at this point.

His thoughts traveled on to Amelia, and John, and Wilhelm… the Count and his family would be arriving that day and dining at the Old Parker House tonight. Charlotte sighed and turned so her back rested against him. Even in her sleep she was right – he should join her for the hours left until dawn. He turned on his side and pulled her in, slipping a hand beneath her nightgown to revel in the warm silk of her skin, burying his face in her hair to breathe her in. He sometimes fancied he could find her in a room of a thousand women simply by her scent. In fact, he knew he could, and that was his last thought before drifting back to sleep.

###

Countess Mendorff cast a disdainful eye on the two youngest members of the Parker family dining at the table. Aaron and Imogen were dressed in their best, their table manners impeccable, but nevertheless, they were nearly nine and eight years old respectively, and the lady deemed them too young it seemed. Perhaps it was their free participation in the discussion she objected to. Charlotte did her best to be gracious, but this was her home, her table, her children. She managed it and them as she saw fit. She found the woman, a wealthy widow before marrying the count, not easy to warm to.

Mrs Winter, the cook, had outdone herself with the meal, three courses and a dessert, starting with a clear bouillon soup, and an orange flavored ice served in between the next course, Dover sole fresh from the sea, breaded and fried in butter and served with a tarragon sauce. Then lovely roast capon with a fig and bacon stuffing. And all from the garden, butter stewed sweet carrots, green peas, and potatoes accompanied, followed in the French style by a salad of fresh greens. Sidney spared no expense with the wines. Several desserts were offered, including Stilton cheese with celery and pulled bread, and tartelettes full of strawberries picked by the children that morning. Charlotte concluded it was not what the countess expected in her fine Italian villa or Bavarian castle, but it would do.

Amelia, at her request, was seated at the opposite end of the table from Wilhelm. His sad eyes followed her every move. They had not seen the boy in five years, and Charlotte could not help but note that even at the age of nineteen, he still bore a strong resemblance to his mother, with blonde hair, large blue eyes, upturned nose and prominent teeth. Compared to his father, he was slight in build, almost delicate, while his sister, Hannelore, was robust, with her father’s coloring and bearing. Charlotte had long ago concluded that Hannelore’s size must have been the factor that took Eliza’s life. It appeared Hannelore was quite captivated with Jay. _What young girl would not be?_ thought his mother. He frequently mentioned his beloved Lora and upcoming marriage, but it did not stop the girl from openly swooning over him.

Charlotte suggested they take coffee and tea in the Great room. She did not suggest a separation of sexes or ages, again to the sniff of the countess. The count asked to speak to Sidney in private, and off they went to his study where he poured two glasses of port and beckoned the count to the window, proud to show him their hothouse and the view of his back acreage. The count feigned interest, then set about his task, one Sidney had anticipated.

“Wilhelm, of course, is nearly twenty. He will need to marry well,” said the count, sipping his port and nodding his approval. “I must commend your excellent taste in wines.”

“More than a pastime at this point,” said Sidney. “I thank you.”

“Yes, I suppose it must be a lucrative venture, wine importation?”

“It can be. Certainly not my only means of income.”

“Ah,” said the count. “Of course.” He paused and Sidney remained silent. A game of chess requires players to take turns, after all. “Wilhelm is most interested in your Amelia, and has been for years. He speaks often of marrying her.”

No doubt the count believed this was the point Sidney should begin to divulge the complexity and size of his fortune and how much Amelia might bring to the marriage. Sidney, however, was privy not only to the relentless declarations of love sent to his daughter by Wilhelm, but Amelia’s opinion of them.

Sidney finished his port, hand on his hip, gazing out upon his favorite view now tinged in the rosy hues of sunset, measuring his words before he spoke. “Of course, it will be Amelia’s decision when and whom she marries. Charlotte and I will exert no influence on her choice of husband, as we trust her judgment. Perhaps she will not marry for some time; she has interests in writing and publishing. But whatever she chooses, she will always have assets at her disposal; I have seen to it. She will never need to marry for money. She is free to marry for love.”

The count drank down the last of his port. This was not the reply he had wished to hear.

“Another?” asked Sidney.

“Please.”

When they joined the others, Justine was well into Beethoven’s Fantasie, Op.77, much to the approval of the countess, who leaned over to her hostess and whispered, “Your daughter plays very well, very well indeed. But such different coloring than the _rest_ of your children...”

Charlotte’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in anger. “She takes after my husband’s father. He was fairer haired, as is Sidney’s brother.”

###

“Insufferable old biddy,” Charlotte said, punching her pillow and then wiggling down under the covers next to Sidney. “ _Such different coloring than the rest of your children_ … It was a blatant insinuation that she… that Justine is not your daughter.”

“They’ll be gone in a few days, and I doubt we will see them again.”

“Thank goodness. I am most happy you informed Rudolph we have no intention of marrying our daughter to his son.”

He propped himself up on one elbow and brushed a few wisps of hair from her brow with the other hand, leaving it to rest across her waist when finished. “They live in an entirely different world than we do. To him, a marriage between our children would be nothing more than a financial transaction. While I am certain he did love Eliza, it’s clear his second marriage was for money, not love. I feel sorry for Wilhelm, to tell the truth. He certainly has deep feelings for Amelia.”

“Which she does not return.”

“Precisely. He seems unable to accept it.”

“I am looking forward to one thing.”

“And that is?”

“The gathering at Sanditon House after the regatta. Esther will not suffer the countess gladly.”

A chuckle came from deep in his chest. “Why Mrs Parker, I’ve never known you to be vengeful.”

She smiled mischievously and ran her finger down his arm. “Not vengeful. Anticipatory. No one can match Esther’s skill in the fine art of acerbity.”

“No doubt you will make your impressions of the countess known to Lady Babington beforehand?”

“Why Mr Parker, are you suggesting I am devious as well as…” He stopped her with a kiss.

**The Nineteenth of June, 1840**

_Sanditon_

The Parkers and Friend team all but sailed to the finish line, a full boat and a half in the lead from the nearest competitor. Jay and John, appearing nearly identical from the shore, rowed with the expertise years of team competitions afforded them, their strokes perfectly in time. Henry coxed for the team, announcing beforehand in a manner not unlike his father that “as the eldest,” he should.

Throngs of adoring young ladies lined the river whispering and giggling about the Adonises in the winning boat, sighing and swooning when they came ashore. Henry took the trophy as the “captain” of the team, but John and Jay cared not. For Jay, the only pair of eyes that mattered had not yet arrived; for John, the only pair that mattered were smiling on him at that very moment.

###

Under the gleaming white marquee, a summer feast had been set for Lord and Lady Babington’s late afternoon gathering. The Parker, Crowe, and Molyneux families were present, along with the guests of honor, the Count and Countess Mendorff. Tom, Mary, Henry and his new wife, Darlene, Elizabeth and Michael were also in attendance, and John Conrad, who was always welcome at Sanditon House ever since his Shakespeare debut. Adam, Robert Crowe and Marcus would not be home until next week. And the newest addition to the Molyneuxs, three year old fraternal twins, a boy and girl whom they were fostering, were garnering effusive attention.

The large drawing room and the surrounding grounds were teeming with guests. Musicians played in the black marble alcove. Sometime during the regatta, Hannelore had transferred her affection for Jay to Anthony, who was after all the heir to an English title, and nearly as tall and robust, with ruddy good looks and his father’s twinkling eyes. The lovely Phoebe, with her mother’s fiery hair, hazel eyes, and porcelain skin, seemed uncharacteristically quiet at first. When the opportunity arose, she took her dear friend Amelia Parker aside.

“I find him charming and extremely handsome. Are you quite certain you have no interest in him?” she asked.

“Oh, Phoebe, none whatsoever. I have no desire to be a countess. If he interests you, make it known to him. He truly is a sweet, very tender young man. He simply is not right for me.”

“His stepmother is a bit of a beast.”

“She is, but it’s his father’s opinion that matters. Wilhelm will be at the ball tomorrow, you know. Go, make conversation. He is sitting all alone.”

Phoebe squeezed Amelia’s hand. “I will.” And off she floated, a vision in azure blue, to rescue Wilhelm from himself.

Twilight was setting in when Amelia strolled back outside. Her mother, Lady Babington and the Countess stood together near the door.

“I must tell how much I have been admiring your hat,” Lady B said, her voice fairly dripping, “it was one of my favorite styles a few years back.”

Amelia’s mother caught her eye as she passed, the mirth unmistakable.

She wandered deeper into the garden, the sounds of the party receding, then came John’s voice softly calling her name. He caught up to her, his face concerned. “Is anything the matter?”

“No, no, lost in my thoughts. It’s so cool and peaceful here.”

“Hm, yes, how should we describe it? The indigo scent of evening…”

“You ascribe a color to a scent?”

“Why not?”

“But there must be a prior reference… in other words, one must already be familiar with the scent of evening.”

“That would depend on where one is that particular evening.” He smiled teasingly at her. “Sometimes poetry makes sense only if one does not think about it.”

“I think too much.”

“No, you do not. You are simply yourself. Your delightful, ever active, analytical mind.”

“John?”

“Yes?”

“We have known each other four years now.”

“True. Four years this month”

“You have never kissed me.”

He puffed out a sharp exhale. “Ah, well, that does not mean I haven’t wanted to.”

“Do you?”

“Want to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“Of course I want to kiss you. I should let you know your father says he will break me in half and your brother says he will tear me limb from limb should I do anything to dishonor you.”

“Is it dishonoring me if I ask you to?”

“Amelia, you know how I feel about you. If… if anything were to happen, if your father forbade me from seeing you…”

She looked back towards the house, then took his hand and pulled him further down the small path. “No one can see us.”

He sighed and took her face in his hands, his eyes searching hers in the last trace of light. Then he leaned in, kissed her gently on the forehead, and released her. “Amelia,” his voice a hoarse whisper, “I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. But I cannot break my word to your father. I cannot jeopardize your reputation. Someday, someday soon. But now we must return. You go first. I will follow later.”

She bowed her head and began to walk away, then stopped, turning back to him. “You truly do love me; I know that now.” She saw his nod in silhouette. “And you should know, I truly love you.” She walked back towards the house and the laughter and the music and the lights, terribly disappointed in one way, but thrilled in another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this provided a bit of diversion. Thank you all for the lovely comments. I do have one favor to ask. I'm on a campaign to see that people read the first story, The Brothers, before starting TF&TL. So much of the background and foundation is set in the first part, it doesn't make sense not to read it. But I fear it's happened more than a few times, perhaps because it lags in kudos.
> 
> TF&TL has nearly twice as many as the Brothers, and I wonder if people think the two stories are connected as far as kudos go, but in fact, they are not. A kudo on this story does not transfer to The Brothers, and vice versa
> 
> So please, if you read The Brothers, and I hope you would not be this far into the story without reading the beginning, go back to it and click the kudos button (if you feel it deserves it) and the site will tell you if you already left kudos. The same for this story. Kudos really do help to persuade other readers. Many, many thanks. SF


	78. Another Midsummer Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,  
> Allow me to express my enormous gratitude. You are simply the best.  
> SF
> 
> And Sidney's flying dream in the last chapter first appears in Chapter 13.

**The Twentieth of June, 1840**

_Sanditon_

The previous evening ended late. The moon’s phase waned and it would not rise until after midnight, making perfect viewing for the Jupiter Saturn conjunction present in the heavens that year. When they returned home from Sanditon House, Sidney brought out the telescope, and everyone took turns admiring the celestial orbs, seeing how many of Jupiter’s moons they could count, hoping to spy Saturn’s rings. As the hour approached eleven, a sea mist moved in, obscuring the night sky and chilling the air, giving cause to pack up the scope and retire for the night.

Amelia woke early as she almost always did, taking great care with her appearance, then heading to the terrace with her notebook, unsure if John would join her. Last night, after his tender denial of her request and her declaration that followed, he had been distant, as if he were apprehensive to come too close, except for one moment during the night sky watch, where the two of them stood behind the others and his hand brushed hers at her side and briefly held it.

But after a short time, he appeared, the shadows under his eyes betraying a night of little sleep, his expression telling her she was the reason. “What do you write this morning?” he asked.

“I am describing colors using scent and sound. A writing exercise inspired by you. But I cannot use nouns, such as the scent of green is mown grass. It’s quite difficult, in fact.”

“Hm, I imagine it would be.”

“I’m surprised you are not a poet yourself.”

“Not an easy way to make a living. And there is poetry in designing bridges and engines, I think. Beauty and symmetry. In one of my final questions I wrote of just that: _the poetry of engineering_.”

She smiled appreciatively. “I wish I could read it.”

“I’ll try to rewrite it for you, what I can remember.”

“You’ll know the results at the end of the week?”

“Or beginning of next. Then I will spend time with my family and we will attend the degree ceremony, and off to London to start my new position where the real learning begins. Britain is woefully behind in education for industry, especially compared to Germany, America, France. Near half the students at Oxford study for the clergy.”

“Would you have learned more apprenticing?”

“Difficult to say, and the prestige was important to my father… to me as well, I suppose. Mathematics is an integral part of design and building, so those studies will not be wasted. But we shall see when I get to London. I’ll need to find lodging there first.”

“And then what?”

“That is partly up to you,” he said, looking out over the garden. “I know you wish to travel, to write. I will be in a fixed place for several years, learning, building my career.”

“Yes, I suppose that is a necessity.”

“It is if I wish to provide a wife with the life she deserves, that she is accustomed to.”

“I read that a difference of five years in age is considered ideal between husband and wife. So the man has a chance to become established.”

He looked at her now and smiled. “Then are we doomed? There are only three between us.”

She laughed and set her notebook down on the table. “It’s silly, really. And we are not _doomed_.”

“I agree. I envision a bright future, not a hopeless one.”

“My cousin, Jenny, will return from Paris in a few weeks. We have plans to work on our chapbook then. Susan has commissioned another painting from her, so she will come to Covington House with us in August. Then we will be in London at the end of September. Will that be the next time we see each other?”

“Most likely. As soon as I know my address, I will write you. I’ll try not to bore you with endless descriptions of tunnels and bridges.”

“I have not once been bored by your letters, not even the three page one about the Rocket.” She gave him a droll smile.

“Egad, I did that, didn’t I?” They both laughed, leaning into each other. Then he sighed. “Are you looking forward to the ball tonight?”

“Yes, I love to dance.”

“Your friend, Wilhelm, he seemed rather quiet at the party yesterday.”

“I believe he has finally come to understand I do not wish to marry him.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Has he asked you?”

“Countless times.”

“You never said.”

“Because it did not matter. I told him just as many times I would never marry him. Besides, Miss Phoebe Pratt has taken an interest in him. She would be happy to be a Bavarian countess.”

“Will he challenge me to a duel tonight when I escort you in?”

“No, but my brother may if we don’t go in for breakfast soon.”

He smiled now, stood and moved his chair away for her, holding out his hand. Their little ritual, palm to palm, then he escorted her inside.

###

Sidney’s valet, Paxton, did not possess Michael Roland’s ease, but Sidney had resolved himself after two months of searching that no man would, and settled for the one who annoyed him the least. Paxton desperately wished to fuss, but after three years he finally possessed the ability to restrain himself. And the man tied a handsome cravat and kept Sidney’s wardrobe meticulously clean. He had tailoring skills as well, as did Michael, and this was another asset.

Michael was still his right hand man, only in the business instead of his home, and his brother in law as well. He and Elizabeth had just announced that after nearly a year, she was with child. Michael was thirty-one years of age when they married, a nine year difference between him and his wife. He had confided in Sidney he feared he might be too old to be a father. Sidney reminded him he had been forty when Aaron was born, and fatherhood would come in due time. He was pleased his prophecy had been borne out.

Charlotte waited in her dressing room. Kellow had just left with the orchids for Amelia and Elizabeth’s hair. She had chosen a gown of cobalt blue silk, low off the shoulders, the neckline trimmed in a wide, black lace flounce. Her hair parted in the center and pulled back into a braided coil, the front tresses in long ringlets with an orchid at both temples. Twenty-one years ago, she had worn a blue gown to the first Midsummer ball. That afternoon, when Sidney had dropped her off at the dressmaker for her final fitting, the two of them floated on air, intoxicated by the kisses and embraces on the clifftop, the hand holding on the way back, the realization that they loved one another. Mary’s maid assisted her with her hair that night, to her eternal gratitude, as she could not stop her hands from quivering.

And there he was, at the door, dashing in a black waistcoat with a cobalt blue cravat, his hair more silver now than dark, his grin rakish as ever. Their eyes met in the mirror. “No doubt you are wearing the sapphires,” he said, pulling up a chair and sitting beside her. And so went their ritual, he covering her with kisses and caresses before draping and fastening the necklace; she donning the earrings, her gloves. Then came the affirmation of their love, their good fortune, said as vows and blessings for another year to come.

Elizabeth and Michael had left in their carriage with Jay. John waited in the Great room with Justine, Aaron and Imogen, when Amelia appeared in her gown of amethyst satin, sloping low over her shoulders with a wide collar trimmed in white lace.

Justine gasped, “Oh sister, you are so lovely!”

John could not have agreed more. When her parents joined them, they donned hats and shawls and climbed into the carriage.

The assembly rooms were overflowing, as to be expected. After a time, friends located friends, compliments freely given, and the musicians began to play. John and Amelia took the floor for the first dance, an old fashioned quadrille, making merry with promenading and weaving in and out with the other couples. Jay danced with Phoebe, Lord Babington with Georgiana. The Crowes danced with each other. No sooner had John escorted Amelia back to her parents did Wilhelm appear to ask her for the next, a waltz. Her eyes met John’s as she left his side. Looks were exchanged between her parents, who also took to the floor.

He held her closer than she wished. In German he said, _“You are the loveliest woman here.”_

 _“Thank you, but I am only one of many,”_ she replied.

_“Why do you refuse to answer my letters?”_

_“You very well know why.”_

_“I do not believe your intention is true.”_

She looked into his face directly. _“I have asked you to cease your declarations of love and proposals. I warned you I would no longer respond if you did not, yet you continued. Therefore, I ceased responding.”_

_“Do you deny you love me?”_

_“I most certainly do deny it. I do not love you. I care for you as a friend, but you are making it difficult to continue even in that vein.”_

_“Your pronunciation is still terrible.”_

“Then I will speak in my own tongue, where _your_ pronunciation is terrible.”

A peeved expression crossed his face. _“What sort of foolish young woman would refuse a graf?”_

“This one.”

_“You refuse me for him? The dark one? How could you insult me in such a fashion?”_

She stopped dancing and pushed him away. “Do not speak to me again.” She left him standing among the other couples swirling across the floor, working her way through to the edge of the crowd, her face hot with anger.

“What the _devil_ …” said Sidney under his breath. He had been keeping a close eye on the pair.

Charlotte saw John hasten to find Amelia. “Leave it,” she said quietly.

“Are you certain?” His hand on her waist tightened.

“Yes. John must be the one to put Wilhelm in his place. He has gone to do just that.”

“What if it becomes a scene?”

“The one you made would be far greater, my dearest husband. And how much more uncomfortable would your relationship with Rudolph become?”

He looked down at her serene expression. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“We must begin to let her go, as we did with Jay, stepping in only when she asks or when absolutely necessary.”

“And I reserve that right… with your permission.” His lips curled in a wry smile.

“Since when have you required my permission to do anything?” she teased back.

“Since the day I met you. Took me a few months to realize it, though.” He leaned down and kissed her right there on the dance floor. “That should create a distraction,” he said, grinning.

Amelia escaped through the curtains and up the stairs to the balcony where laughs and giggles floated out, so she slipped into a dark corner of the anteroom, her back against the wall, her breath in short gasps. Wilhelm followed directly and found her. Putting his hands on the wall, trapping her between, he leaned in, his face next to hers. She turned her head to the side, felt his breath and lips against her ear.”

_“We are destined to be together. I have never lost hope you will be by my side one day.”_

“Stop it!” She pushed his arm, trying to break free.

“Leave her at once.” John stood a few feet away, his hands clenched into fists.

Wilhelm spun around to face the voice. Amelia darted away to John, who swept her behind him.

“You cannot speak to me in such a manner!” Wilhelm condescended, haughty, his voice cold as ice.

John deliberately looked him up and down. “I believe I just did. You will leave her be. Go.” He motioned to the stairwell with a flick of his head, never taking his eyes off the man across from him.

Wilhelm assessed his opponent. While only slightly taller, this fellow possessed far greater bulk and strength. And he was angry. Very angry. “Only if she tells me.” It came out as more of a plea than he had expected.

To the astonishment of both men, Amelia emerged from behind John, threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a fervent, forceful kiss. She felt his deep, surprised inhalation, heard Wilhelm’s gasp. She broke from John’s lips and turned her eyes to Wilhelm, whose face was drained of color, leaving him to appear almost ghostlike. She became aware of John’s hand firmly clutching her waist, hers now holding his shoulders. The three of them stood and stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. Then she spoke, deliberately, quietly.

“This is the man I love, Wilhelm. His side is where I will be one day, not yours. Please leave us now. Lord Babington’s daughter, Miss Phoebe Pratt, would be delighted to dance with you. Go, ask her. We will not speak of this ever again.”

The blood rushed back into Wilhelm’s face, painting his ears and cheeks scarlet. He pulled himself up to his full height, clicked his heels, bowed stiffly, and departed.

She dropped her head against John’s chest, breathing deeply. More laughter floated out from the balcony, and they instinctively moved into the corner shadows. He cupped her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “Are you all right? Did he touch you? Injure you?”

“I am now. And no, he did not.”

“Do you mean what you said? Is it _when_ instead of _if?”_

“It has always been so.”

This time, he sought her lips, not fervently and forceful, but achingly tender, adoring. Her hands slid back around his neck and into his hair while his traveled down her ribcage to her waist, pulling her in. He left soft, reverent kisses along her jaw, to her ear where he whispered her name. Then he pulled back to look in her eyes.

“We must return now, before your father breaks me in half.”

“He will not. Besides he would have to go through me first.”

He chuckled and appraised her appreciatively. “My dearest Amelia, we have been gone far too long.”

“One more.” Their lips met again one last time, long and deep, then they rested their foreheads together. “I love you,” she whispered.

“And I love you. I will wait however long you wish, however long you need. I make no demands.” He tucked in a few errant wisps of her hair.

She straightened his cravat. “Are we ready?”

He held out his hand. “Come.”

Together they went down the stairs and back into the crowd.

Sidney escorted Charlotte off the dance floor to where the Molyneuxs stood. “Honestly, you two,” Georgiana scolded in jest, “must you be so scandalous?”

“I take full blame,” said Sidney, taking Charlotte around her waist. “I simply cannot resist my wife.”

“Let them gossip,” said Otis. “How ridiculous it is a man kissing his wife is considered scandalous.” And with that, he bent down and kissed his own, much to her surprise, earning a full throated laugh.

“Ah, there is Wilhelm, dancing with Phoebe, you see?” said Charlotte.

“Hm,” Sidney responded, “but where… Have you seen Amelia?” he asked Georgiana and Otis.

They all scanned the throng. “Ah, over there,” said Otis, “dancing with John Conrad.”

Georgiana looked at her friends curiously. “Is it serious between those two?”

“We are not yet certain. We do know Wilhelm is quite out of the picture,” Charlotte replied. As she observed the two dancing, even from across the hall she sensed something had changed between them. She could not put her finger on it… was it the way they looked at each other? Or the way he held her? She glanced up at Sidney, who also gazed keenly at his daughter. Yes, he saw it, too.

“There, you see, no harm done,” Amelia smiled with seductive sweetness.

“You speak for yourself. I'm afraid I am irrevocably changed.” He returned her smile.

“Well, yes, in that I am quite the same as you.”

“Should we inform your parents of our plans?”

“Not yet, I want it to be our secret for a while. Let’s wait until I am eighteen, and you will be one and twenty.”

He nodded his agreement. A few moments later he asked, “What did he say to you that made you leave the dance?”

She huffed. “It does not matter.”

“It does to me.”

“It was _about_ you.”

“Ah. A slur?”

She looked away.

“I have been mulling for some time how to say this to you, but I suppose there is no comfortable way." He paused as he spun her away and back. "There will always be people who say such things about me, and later they will say them about you, and even our children. I have known it all my life, so I am somewhat inured to it, but you are not.”

“I do not care…”

“Nevertheless, I wish for you to think long and hard about what a life with me will mean for you, in that sense. I wish you to enter this with your eyes wide open. It will not always be easy for us. Many times in my life I have had to be twice as skillful to achieve what other men are given freely simply because of their heritage. It may be the same for our children.”

“I have grown up with the Molyneuxs. I am fully aware of the challenges it may bring.” She looked at him in earnest, her face set in resolve. “I told you, it matters not.”

“All right. Let’s leave it now.”

They finished the dance in quiet companionship, content to be in each other’s arms.

**The Twenty-Second of June, 1840**

_Sanditon_

The previous day had passed quietly. Sunday services. Jay, John and Amelia went for a long ride. Aaron and Imogen showed John all Rascal’s new tricks. Dinner was a boisterous affair. Through it all, John dared not reveal his feelings around the rest of the Parkers. As much as he wanted to and her eyes asked, he did not kiss her again, and certainly would not in her father’s house. Elizabeth and Michael had left for London a short while before. The Parker carriage would head to Winchester to retrieve Adam, giving John a ride home in the process. Everything he and Amelia needed to say had already been said, and he thanked his host and hostess for their generosity, clasped his dear friend Jay in a tight embrace, wished his sisters and brother farewell, and with one last look at Amelia, he boarded the carriage and waved out the window as it rolled up the drive.

Aaron no longer chased after carriages, but Rascal still did. “Rascal,” he called after the little dog, “Come.” And Rascal turned and trotted back, tail wagging, his job finished.

“So,” said Sidney, “Adam will be home tomorrow and the Sinclairs arrive Wednesday.”

“Our calendar is full this summer,” said Charlotte. “Shall we all sea bathe today?”

“At our beach or Sanditon?” asked Jay.

“You’ll have to wear your drawers if we bathe here,” said his mother. She was not about to let her daughters see their father and brothers in the nude, and Sidney quite agreed. They had bathing costumes for the girls as well, but something about the bathing machines had always appealed to her.

“Jolly good,” said Jay in his best Uncle Arthur voice. “Drawers it is.”

And an hour or so later, the Parker family minus Adam made their way down the well-worn path to their own private spot of sand.


	79. It's Written in the Stars

**The Twenty-Third of June, 1840**

_On the Road to Sanditon_

Paxton was sound asleep in the other seat. A wisp of a man he was, fastidious in his dress and manners, but kind, and a decent conversationalist. Adam gazed back out the window. In year or so, Jay would marry and take over some of their father’s business. A pang of jealousy struck Adam, but not for too long. He had no expectations of becoming a partner in his father’s work, although he intended to learn as much as he could about how the enterprise was run. Papa had always said the three boys would share equally, but Jay had a head start, and Adam was quite certain it would all become Jay’s eventually. Just as well to plan for it now. Adam might wish to start his own business someday.

He was certain, too, that neither Oxford nor any other university would be in his future. Not that he could not do well there, he could, he simply had no aspirations to spend three more years in school after sixth form. How many Greek and Latin texts did one need to translate and analyze? His father never went beyond Winchester in schooling, and look how successful he was, despite being a second son whose elder brother inherited almost everything. Amelia would never go to Oxford, and she had a brilliant mind.

David Conrad, John’s brother, had finished his first year at Winchester, but he lived at home as John had done. Adam enjoyed associating with David, a shyer version of John. A mathematical genius, they said, just like his brother. David told him that John considered much of his Oxford education useless in his chosen work, but his father felt the prestige would open doors for him that would otherwise remain closed because of his mixed race. Adam supposed that made sense, but he could not help thinking how dimwitted people were to judge a man in that way, how many missed opportunities as a result. He never once thought of his best friend George as inferior because his skin was brown. He could not fathom even considering it.

At nearly sixteen, Adam had not yet settled on what his future would be. As long as he could remember, he desired travel and adventure. As they say, one's fate is written in the stars. His cousin James ended up in India after purchasing his commission in the cavalry, but Adam’s thoughts tended towards a different continent, to America, and if he were honest with himself, a life of rigid structure in the military held no appeal. Something that did fascinate him about his father’s business, besides the ships and all, was the wine. Étienne’s vineyard captivated him, the hectares of trellises full of vines, the sweet aromatic tang that filled the air as the grapes were crushed, the cool dark cellar. He clearly remembered back to the very first time he went there, when only three years old. Perhaps he’d spend some time in France before heading to America and learn the craft of winemaking. 

Paxton snorted and rolled his head, waking himself up, rubbing his eyes and focusing on the landscape. “Ah, we are almost there.”

Indeed they were.

###

Justine found it difficult to determine who had the better hearing – Aaron or Rascal. Both seemingly heard a carriage half way up the road, often while the piano was being played. Rascal’s ears perked and Aaron jumped up, proclaiming whoever was expected was here. She and Imogen would exchange knowing glances and continue playing. Out boy and dog would run to wait in front of the house, and inevitably, the expected carriage would soon arrive, as it did this afternoon with Adam.

The carriage rolled to a stop and the grooms rushed to attend. Adam did not wait for Paxton, he opened the door and let himself out. Aaron rushed to his brother, who had no trouble hoisting the boy up, big as he was for near nine years. “Little bit!”

Aaron laughed and squirmed. “I’m not little anymore.”

Adam set him down and tussled his hair. “True, you are a beast, a veritable monster. Look at you!”

“Papa says I am the best boxer yet. I’ve practiced with Jay, and I will with you.”

“Aha! A challenge…”

Rascal barked and danced as they walked to the house; Aaron put his finger to his lips in conspiracy as he let the dog in through the front door. Justine and Imogen filled the house with music, some duet or another, never seeming to tire of the instrument under their fingertips. He kissed them both atop their heads, and they acknowledged with nods and smiles, without missing a note.

“Where is everyone?”

“Mama is in the hothouse,” said Aaron. “Amelia… riding perhaps? Jay and Papa are in the study.”

No doubt Papa was tutoring Jay in the management of his enterprise, Adam thought. He headed out back to the hothouse, where his mother tended her prized specimens. Unlike his father, her hair remained its rich chestnut color save a few silvers here and there. Her face was softer than it was in his youth, the jawline a touch less firm, and tiny smile lines sat at the corners of her eyes and mouth, deepening when she laughed and said, “I have earned them,” whenever one of her children teased her. In Adam’s view, she was ageless. Beautiful, strong, loving, supportive. Papa often said he hoped his boys would find the same happiness he had with their mother. Jay had, it seemed. Adam doubted he ever would. His heart was not the tender open book of his brother’s.

Marriage was one subject he never considered seriously. Not that he didn’t think about _women_ , he never thought about marrying one. Adam considered himself congenial; his friends appreciated his dry wit and astute observations. He could be quite charming, the master of mischief, but he guarded his emotions at all times. He learned his lesson the day he let them loose upon his brother, and be it in love or war, the passion he felt was best kept under lock and key. Cool and cautious had become his maxim. Such thinking enabled him to knock out a grown man when he was not yet twelve. And perhaps this gave him reason to disregard marriage – he clearly was ill suited for it.

His mother stood at the potting table when he entered. Her smile flashed broadly when she saw him. “Adam!”

He kissed her on both cheeks. “Hello dearest Mama.”

She pulled off her garden gloves and took his face in her hands. “How I have missed you.” Seeing Adam after an absence always tugged at her heart in a way she could not describe. He was so like Sidney at first glance, more so as he grew. And yet on close examination, his eyes were larger and farther apart; his nose slightly wider at the bridge than Sidney’s was; his teeth far more like hers in shape and size. But when the two of them stood side by side, the son was clearly cut from the exact same cloth as the father. “Your journey was pleasant, I hope?”

“Utterly uneventful,” he said with a grin. “Paxton slept most of the way.”

“Dear Paxton. He is a good fellow, you know.”

“Absolutely. Simply gave me time to think.”

“And what were your thoughts?”

“Everything and nothing.”

“Well, you are home for the summer. The Sinclairs arrive tomorrow. And I know your father and brother are anxious to see you. Go change. I believe they are in his study.” She embraced him and kissed his cheek.

“Right,” he replied. What he wanted to do was saddle up Prince and take a long ride. But that would have to wait.

When Sidney heard Adam’s voice downstairs, he stood and stretched. “It sounds as if Adam is home. Let’s stop for now. I’d like to speak to you on another matter.” He went to the door and closed it, then came back to Jay. Sidney half leaned, half sat against the massive old oak desk. “I would be remiss if I did not stress the delicateness of your betrothed staying under our roof.”

Jay shifted in his chair.

“Her father is placing a great deal of trust in me and in my son. I expect you to conduct yourself in a manner that will not bring dishonor to Lora, her family, yourself, or our family. You understand my meaning?”

“Of course, I do.” An obstinate expression settled onto his face.

Sidney observed his son, a bit disappointed at his reaction. “I speak from experience. Your mother and I stayed under the same roof just weeks before we wed, not only at Covington House but in Willingden. We both were of age; I was well established in my life, still, there were expectations to be met. But both you and Lora need permission to marry, and you are some time away from the event. The expectations are far greater.”

“Papa…”

“I mean what I say. I wholly understand the desire you feel, and there will be moments where you will be sorely tempted to throw caution to the wind. Do not. I trust you will be a gentleman at all times.”

“She will be staying in the same room with Amelia, I could hardly…”

“By design.”

Jay scoffed, feeling quite annoyed. “You cannot tell me you did not kiss Mama during the time you stayed at Covington House.”

“That is true, I cannot say such a thing because I did. But I was seven and twenty years old, your mother was two and twenty. We did not need permission to marry, and we _would_ be married in a few short weeks. We were a grown man and woman visiting with our friend, not children residing with parents. You and Lora are not yet twenty. You will not marry for at least a year. Do not jeopardize her father’s good faith, my boy. That is all I ask. Your actions reflect directly on your mother and me.”

“You need not worry.”

“Good. I wish not to. And I certainly do not wish your mother to.”

A knock came on the door. “Tis I, your second son,” Adam said.

Sidney rolled his eyes to the heavens in a silent request to grant him patience. “Come in, _Adam_.”

Adam sensed the tension the moment he entered the room.

“How went your journey?” his father asked.

“Quite well. The new carriage is most comfortable and the ride smooth.”

“The chariot was going on twenty-one years; I couldn’t risk it falling apart on the road.”

Adam motioned to the ledgers spread across the desk. “Are you learning the books, Jay?”

Jay stood and mumbled, “I was.”

Adam looked about the room awkwardly. “Well, I seem to have come upon you at a bad time. I was hoping to get a ride in before dark, perhaps I’ll do just that.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Jay.

“Right,” Adam said for the second time in a span of a quarter hour.

Jay bowed stiffly. “Father.” Out he stormed.

Adam cast a puzzled expression at his father, who shook his head. “Go on, my boy, I’ll see you at dinner.”

###

“Was I wrong to bring it up?” Sidney lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Jay had eaten his dinner in sullen silence, and while it gave Adam an opportunity to garner attention, Jay’s uncharacteristic bad humor, especially when his beloved would soon arrive, raised concerns among his siblings.

“No, you were not wrong, but I understand his response,” said Charlotte, curled up on her side, resting her head on her bent arm.

“His _response_ indicated to me he had every intention of doing what I was cautioning him against.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I _know_ so.”

“Well, we certainly flouted propriety.”

“It was not the same situation and you know it. We were adults. And I was quite well behaved in your father’s house if you recall. _You_ kissed _me_ after shooing Freddie and Eddie from my room.”

She smiled at the memory. “Yes, but you were rather amorous in the orchard…”

“You did not protest…” He looked at her now with an eyebrow raised in challenge. “And not even at Susan’s did I venture under your skirt, no matter how much I wanted to and despite your, shall I say, _encouragement_.”

“Well then, how do we know it won’t be Lora who does the enticing?” She slipped atop him, entwining her legs with his, propped up on her elbows, her hands playing in his hair.

His one hand traced lazy circles on her, the other rested on the small of her back. “All the more reason he must conduct _himself_ with propriety. Can you imagine the humiliation it would bring if our son was caught by her father in a compromising position with his daughter, _in our home?”_

“Yes, I agree. Perhaps he did not understand…”

“No, my love, he full well understood. Remember the discussion I had with him before his last year at Winchester. I thought I was frank, even regarding…”

“Amorous congress?”

He half smiled and reached down, running his hands up her thighs, lifting her nightgown on the way. “Yes, even that. But how does one convey to a lusty young man it’s so much more than the act itself, and waiting makes it so very much sweeter? Perhaps I did not say enough.”

“How do boys learn? How did you?”

“Ah, there are always boys who somehow know more and tell jokes and stories and such. Books with explicit drawings are discreetly circulated, though I am sure the masters are well aware. Then there were the well-worn medical volumes in the Winchester library…” he chuckled. “No doubt both Jay and Adam have looked through those.”

“Did your father say anything?”

“Not a word. I doubt many did, not back then anyway.”

“Then how can you think you said not enough?”

“Castigating myself, I suppose.”

“Well don’t. You are a wonderful father. And husband.”

“You have no complaints?”

“Perhaps one.”

“Oh? And that is?”

She moved her hips against him, slowly, rhythmically. “I’ve been up here for a several minutes and you have yet to ravish me.”

“Ah, easily remedied…”

**The Twenty-Fourth of June, 1840**

_Sanditon_

At breakfast, Jay seemed his usual self, no doubt in anticipation of Lora’s arrival. The tutor’s lessons had been rescheduled, the evening’s meal was being prepared in the kitchen. Charlotte and her daughters had picked copious amounts of flowers and greenery – peonies, roses, larkspur, phlox, mint, and green bits of hedgerow, making numerous arrangements then placed about the house and in the guest rooms. 

The Sinclairs had stayed the previous night in Southampton, arriving in Sanditon early afternoon. The entire family waited to greet them, Jay nearly bursting in anticipation. Professor Sinclair stepped out first, a tall, very slender man in his fifties it seemed, with sandy brown hair quite white at the temples, spectacles over his bright blue eyes, and a pleasant, kindly face. His wife followed, an elegantly dressed lady, Charlotte’s height but far more plump, a jovial countenance with a twinkle in her blue eyes. And lastly, Lora, every bit as lovely as Jay had described. He strode to them confidently, ushering them forward, making introductions, every bit the gentleman his parents had raised him to be.

The luggage was brought in, guests were shown their rooms, tea to be served in an hour. Amelia stayed with Lora briefly, first to express her happiness to meet her future sister, then apologizing for the shared room arrangement.

“Oh, please, do not apologize. I have no question it was my father’s idea. Temptation and all,” she said with an eye roll.

Amelia popped out a little “Ha!” followed by a giggle.

“I hope I did not shock you,” said Lora.

“Not at all. I believe you will learn I am rather unshakable in most matters.”

“A sister after my own heart.”

“Indeed. Kindred spirits already. Would you like assistance in changing, or will your maid be in?”

“She’s most likely with my mother. Your assistance would be most welcome.”

When the two of them came to the terrace for tea, arm in arm, Jay could not decide if he should be pleased or alarmed.

###

“Is it not a problem to keep a stallion, Mr Parker?” asked the Professor as he toured the grounds with his host and sons.

“Sidney, please…”

“Matthew then…”

“We’ve not found it so. He is the only one, as was my previous steed, who sired two colts we use for riding and carriages. Jack here was a bit temperamental at first, but he’s settled down now. Sired two fillies.”

“You have a good stable master then?”

“A very good one. He’s been with us from the beginning.”

“And Jay, this is your famous Titan?”

“It is, sir. He’s nearly nineteen now, gentle as could be. He’s quite accustomed to a ladies’ saddle, as my sisters ride him often. Perhaps you would allow me to take Lora riding? With my sister, of course.”

“If she wishes. She’s not had a great amount of experience riding, though, so keep that in mind.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Another Fell pony I see.”

“That is Prince,” said Adam. “Also from our Uncle Charles’s farm in Cumberland.”

“They are a handsome breed, I’ll give you that,” said Matthew.

The ladies were on their own tour, where Mrs Henrietta Sinclair was captivated by Charlotte’s exotics in the hothouse. “After your rose garden, I did not think I could be more impressed,” she said, “but goodness, Charlotte, these are utterly spectacular!”

“And we have certainly made good use of the hothouse with science lessons and seedlings for the garden,” said Charlotte.

“I can imagine,” Hetty replied.

###

Mrs Winter again outdid herself with the dinner, but this time her efforts were met with great praise and enjoyment. Discussion was lively, topics varied.

“And what did you think of Prince Albert’s speech at Exeter Hall?” asked Matthew.

“Our friends, Otis and Georgiana Molyneux, have long been closely involved in the abolition movement…” said Charlotte.

“Otis himself was a slave,” Justine added.

“Yes, they were present at his speech and very impressed, not only by the content, but his delivery. They hope he will continue to be an advocate for the cause,” Charlotte finished.

“We will have a little prince or princess soon,” said Hetty, “with dear hope it all goes well.”

After coffee and tea in the Great room, with Justine, Imogen and Lora entertaining on the piano, the telescope was brought out, as earlier promised. The night was clear and temperate, the moon nearly new and nowhere in the sky to fade out the stars and planetary conjunction. And a shooting star was seen, to abundant oohs and ahhs.

With everyone’s attention on the heavens, Jay and Lora stole away to the other side of the house. She leaned up against the wall and pulled him to her. His kisses devoured her, and she sighed and moaned, “I did not think I could endure another minute.”

“I have missed you so,” he whispered from the hollow of her neck.

“Lora?” came her father’s call from the terrace.

She gasped.

“We must stop,” Jay whispered. “My father spoke to me sternly…”

“Yes…”

“You go back the way we came. If they ask you have not seen me. I’ll go inside through the front door.” He kissed her again, then pulled away. They parted and went opposite directions.

“Yes, Father?” she said, walking across the grass to the assembled group.

“Where were you?”

“Just enjoying the air.”

“Have a look in the scope.”

“Of course…”

Jay mingled with the group now. Amelia caught his eye and almost imperceptibly shook her head.


	80. The First Son's Lament

**The Twenty-Fifth of June, 1840**

_Sanditon_

After feigning a headache, Amelia had retired early the night before, not wishing to converse with anyone. She woke at first light, preparing for the day quietly so as not to disturb Lora, who slept soundly in the other bed. When she finished with her morning routine, she slipped out of the chamber and to the terrace, wishing for all the world a certain person could join her, but alas, he was far away. And therein lay the rub – if Jay disgraced himself, the repercussions would surely trickle down. Would Papa then forbid John from ever staying with them again? Her father had been furious with Jay, no mistaking his expression. No doubt her mother spent a good portion of the night soothing him. Amelia considered the situation from every angle, concluding she had no choice but to take matters into her own hands. 

A soft knocking on his chamber door awoke Jay. It must be Paxton, he thought, perhaps he had overslept. He mumbled his permission and shrugged off his sleepiness. But it was not Paxton who entered; it was Amelia. He bolted up to sitting, initially concerned calamity had struck, but her countenance said otherwise.

She stood over him, arms crossed, vexed and hissing. “Do you realize everyone knew you and Lora disappeared? Are you truly such a fool? Do you have any idea how selfish and hypocritical you are?”

“Now steady on…” He arranged his nightshirt to make certain he was decent.

Her eyes blazed. “No, I will not. You will hear me. You told John you would inflict bodily harm if he dishonored me, yet you _flaunted_ the very same conduct. Papa was livid last night. Did you not see? You behaved nothing short of nonchalant. If you have disgraced yourself before Lora’s father and mother, if they decide you are not to marry her, he and Mama will be mortified. And surely the rest of us will suffer due to your transgression. Our freedom will be limited because _you_ cannot be trusted.”

He yawned and waved her off. “Nothing happened.”

“And how do we know, Jay? You two disappeared into the night. When she reappeared, the flush on her face, her mussed hair… it was obvious even in the dim light _something_ happened. That you stole away together under the eyes of two sets of parents is enough!”

“I’d make a good wager you have kissed Conrad.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, I kissed him, at the ball after he rescued me from Wilhelm, who had nearly assaulted me in case you did not know. And that is the only time we have kissed in the four years I have known John.”

“Ah, yes Amelia, you have always been the _good_ child.”

She scoffed. “You care nothing about the example you set for your younger brothers. You are so ungrateful. Papa has given more to you than to any of us. He even bought a house for you!”

“He did not buy it for me.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, putting his feet on the floor.

“He certainly did buy it with you in mind, not me, nor Adam, nor any of the rest of us. He’s having a second master chamber put in for _you_. And how do you thank him? You humiliate him. This entire visit is for our father to prove to her father that _you_ are worthy of her hand. And presently, you are failing miserably.”

“Enough!”

“No, it will be enough when you begin thinking with your head instead of with that… that _thing_ between your legs.”

His mouth fell open.

“Oh, did I cause you discomfort? Good. Perhaps you will think twice before chasing into the sea after yet another bonnet.” She turned on her heel and left.

 _All right, I’m awake now,_ he thought, scratching his stubble. Was his father truly so angry? He had not seen it, but in truth, he had eyes only for Lora. Everyone had turned in within an hour or so and… More knocking came, firmer than the first. Paxton, he supposed. “Enter.”

But it was not Paxton. Jay could not recall the last time he’d seen his father with such a dark demeanor. Before he could open his mouth to speak, his father took hold with both hands the collar of his nightshirt, lifting him abruptly. Jay’s feet nearly dangled. His father, eyes narrowed, held Jay’s face inches from his own and said in a voice eerily calm, “Have I ever struck you?”

A wave of queasiness passed over Jay. “No…” came out in a croak.

“Given you reason to hate me?”

“Never…”

His father released him onto the bed with a heave, his eyes locked on Jay’s. “Did you not hear a single word I said? Are you truly so impetuous you cannot control yourself?”

“We did nothing wrong…”

His father paced now. “For the sake of your mother I did not wish to make a scene last night, but regardless of whether or not _anything_ transpired during your disappearance, your conduct shamed us and yourself. Far worse, you distressed Lora’s parents. They had not been here but eight hours before you hasten off into the night with their daughter.” He stopped and crossed his arms, his eyes searching Jay’s. “Did you believe no one would _notice?”_

“I… we…” he stammered.

“I should pull you from Oxford and send you to London to work with Michael, _as an apprentice_. Let you earn the right to marry her, _if_ her father will still allow it. Why should I attempt to convince him my son is worthy when you behave like a scoundrel, despite… no… in _defiance_ of my counsel.” He went to the window, threw open the draperies, and stared out, hands on his hips.

“You are right; I conducted myself thoughtlessly and selfishly. I will apologize.”

“You have always had an impulsive side. We’ve done our best to give you guidance without breaking your spirit, and I have been so very proud of you and the man I thought you were becoming, as has your mother. Upon reflection, perhaps I’ve given you too much, just as my father did Tom. You’ve never had to earn anything. You’ve never struggled.”

“That is not true, I earned my standing at Winchester. And Oxford.”

Sidney continued, intent on getting his point across. “Tom knew nothing about running my father’s enterprise. He strutted around the front office, full of grand ideas, drinking Father’s port, all the while on an ample salary that made it possible to wed Mary. I sat all day in a small, stuffy room, pouring over invoices and shipping documents, paid fifteen shillings a week as an apprentice. Of course, Eliza could not have that. She wanted money. In the end, I was hurried off to Antigua for my transgressions, out of sight, out of mind. When Father died, Tom ran the business into the ground, then sold what was left to fund his next great scheme. If he had been wise, if he had known how the business operated, he could have used the income to gradually build Sanditon instead of incurring such large debts. But I was not here to advise him. Not that he would have listened.”

He turned now and scrutinized his son. “I will not allow you to become like Tom. If you wish to support a wife on the proceeds from my business, the one I built from nothing, you will learn how it runs from the bottom up. You will _earn_ it. Do not assume that because you are my eldest son you are entitled to all I have.”

Jay’s face had drained of color. “Do you truly think I am like Tom? That I will go mad as he did?”

“No, you will not go mad; I have no concerns in that respect. But you have displayed a sense of privilege not unlike his, and that troubles me. Your petulant response to my counsel about this visit, followed by the sullen demeanor at dinner. Then last evening, the final indication you think yourself above the rules of my house.”

“Amelia has already chastised me, soundly. She called me ungrateful and selfish. She said I may as well run into the sea after another bon…” the word caught in his throat.

His father shook his head and returned his focus through the window on something in the distance, but his voice was softer, tinged with sorrow. “Just before I came to, before I opened my eyes all those years ago, I had a dream, a vision, where you came to me as a grown man. I thought I was in the River Styx and it was Charon coming to ferry me across, but it was you in the skiff, much as you are now. You told me I must come back to teach you how to be a man. And when I managed to reach my hand out of the water, you pulled me aboard and I awoke, finding your hand _was_ in mine.” He turned now, to look at Jay, who sat motionless, staring at his hands in his lap. “Have I failed in that task?”

“I will quit Oxford. I will work as you said. I will prove myself.”

A deep sigh overcame Sidney. “Wash and dress. Break your fast. Your mother and I will meet with the professor and his wife to discuss the matter. Then we will summon you and Lora.”

Paxton was waiting outside the door. “Give him a minute or two.” He went back to his chamber, where Charlotte had finished dressing. His dour expression gave her pause.

“What does he say?”

“They did nothing wrong.”

“That makes no difference. Stealing away was wrong in itself.”

“So I told him.”

He shook his head, attempting to formulate his thoughts into words. “I swore I would not be the man my father was. I would not favor my first son over the others. Yet I find I have done so. I’ve unwittingly created the same situation that made Tom. I told Jay if he wishes to become a part of the business, he must apprentice first. Leave Oxford.”

“But doing so will delay their marriage.”

“Then so be it. If she is unwilling to wait, or will marry only an Oxford graduate, she does not truly love him. Better he finds out before he marries her.”

She moved to him, placing her palms against his chest, looking up at him with a reassuring mien. “Perhaps we are inflating the problem. Should we not wait until we speak to Matthew and Hetty?”

He folded her into his arms and offered a half smile, the first she had seen from him since the previous evening, before the incident. “Yes, you’re right. You nearly always are.”

“Nearly?”

“Even you, my love, are not infallible.”

“Reason for us to forgive our son, is it not?”

“I am afraid this time he must earn my forgiveness. I will not hand it to him as I have everything else. Do you think me hard hearted for feeling so?”

“You are not hard hearted. You are disappointed and rightfully so. Perhaps we have favored him above the others in some respects, but is it not because he is the first in everything? The first to go to school, the first to come of age, the first to speak of marriage? None of them will ever be first in our _hearts_. We love them all in equal amounts, but just as they are different in character, so too is the way our affection manifests. The love I feel for Justine is equally strong as that for Amelia, but I express it differently because Justine is different. She requires praise and recognition to thrive, while Amelia needs to be trusted and given leeway.”

He gazed down at her, his eyes gentle and shining. “Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

“Yesterday, perhaps…” She reached up and kissed him, a soft brush of her lips on his.

“Then you are due.” He kissed her, far more than a soft brush. “More than life itself.”

###

“While we cannot condone his conduct, we do not wish you to be too hard on the boy,” Matthew said.

“That is the heart of the matter, Matthew. He is a boy. He may appear to be a man, but he has proven he is not ready for a man’s responsibility. And I have two younger sons who are watching. I do not want them to think his conduct is acceptable.”

“Yes, we understand. Lora is our last, and we have perhaps been more lenient with her than her older sister, to Lora’s detriment,” said Hetty. “Lora says she is as much at fault as Jay. That it was ill advised, but they are equally to blame.”

“Then perhaps the solution we propose is best for both,” said Charlotte. “If Jay leaves Oxford and apprentices in London, both will have time to consider their feelings for each other. Jay will learn the discipline we believe he needs. He will be of age September after next and then he is free to make his own decisions.”

“It is difficult for me, as an Oxford professor, to see him leave after his second year, but I agree, it would be best if they were separated for a time.”

###

Jay sipped his second cup of coffee when Lora joined him on the terrace. “They are conferring in the study now,” she said, taking a seat beside him.

“Yes, we will soon be summoned.” He reached out his hand and took hers, a look of resolve on his face. “I should let you know I will be leaving Oxford.”

“No!”

“Yes. I will go to London and apprentice in my father’s business. Learn every aspect. Make my contribution.”

“ _Apprentice?_ How long will it take?”

“I don’t know, two years? When I have shown I can manage the work to his satisfaction. He is right. I have to earn the privilege of marrying you. I cannot expect him to simply hand me a life, a means to support you. I have to prove I am worthy of it. Worthy of you.”

“You are worthy of me!”

“But everything I would bring to our marriage right now is his. I have contributed nothing, not yet anyway.” He felt a surge of panic in his chest. “Will you not wait?”

“Of course I will wait! I would wait forever. But… why did he change his mind, all because of last night?”

Jay sighed heavily. “In short, I disappointed him, more than ever before. I will explain later.”

“So he is not angry?”

“I wish he were. Adam and I have often said that sometimes we would rather he beat us than be disappointed in us.”

“You said he never beat you.”

“He does not have to.”

She sat back in her chair and dropped her head. “How foolish we were.”

“Yes. Perhaps it was for the best, though. In the end.”

“How?”

“Waiting will make it so much sweeter, will it not? He squeezed her hand.

She turned to him, the corners of her beautiful mouth curving upward.

SEVEN WEEKS LATER.

**The Eleventh of August, 1840**

_Covington House, Surrey_

“It is all so sudden and shocking, Charlotte. Is he taking it well?” asked Susan.

Charlotte set down her teacup and breathed in the exotic perfume of citrus flowers that drifted through Susan’s orangery. “In fact, he is. He has come to see the wisdom of our decision. We don’t know what it is about Jay, but so often he has impulsively pushed beyond what is safe or acceptable, followed by a marked transformation. It’s as if he needs to teeter on the edge of an abyss to fully understand himself. But he has always been a loving boy, and truly his heart is good and kind. Sidney thinks we have been too indulgent. I am not so certain I agree.”

“Is that not the very difference between a father and a mother?” Susan said with a gentle smile.

Charlotte chuckled. “Indeed.”

“I think of the Shakespeare line, _And all these troubles shall serve for sweet discourse in the time to come…_ I am certain their love will grow and ripen into a lasting one.” With a knowing smile she added, “As Amelia’s will with Mr Conrad.”

Charlotte returned Susan’s sentiment with a smile of her own. “My first two could not be further apart in temperament and yet so alike in other ways. Amelia analyzing every step; Jay jumping ahead without thinking. Yet both see the silver lining behind the dark clouds; both are bright and charming; both seem to have found their true love at a very young age.”

“And what of Adam? Goodness he’s a handsome boy, but quite elusive. What are his future plans?”

“Adventure, he says. He wishes to learn winemaking of all things. He asked to spend next summer working with Charles and his horses on the farm in Cumberland. I must confess, I have a fear, unfounded but nevertheless in my heart, that of all my children, he will be the one who ends up in a faraway place.”

“Which so often happens with the second son.”

“Yes, and he is painfully aware of his status, despite Sidney’s best efforts to convince him it does not apply in our family.”

“And Justine, oh my dear, her mastery of music is astonishing. What shall become of her talent?”

“We presently have a very good music tutor for her and Imogen…”

“No governess still?”

“No, Amelia is filling much of the role with Imogen, of her own initiative, as is Justine. Aaron has his tutor.”

“I understand Lady Ruthven was quite taken with Justine when she visited with Francis and family.”

“Yes, and asking when she will return.” 

“Ah, here they are!” Susan beamed at the four who approached the orangery, a footman following with Jenny’s easel and case of supplies.

“Oh, how lovely!” Jenny exclaimed. “Do not move from where you are. It is simply the most perfect vision of you two.”

“Well, are we ready to have ourselves painted by this talented young artist?” Susan asked the other three.

“I’ll place you in a moment,” said Jenny. “Allow me to set up first.”

Charlotte marveled at Jenny’s easy air, her confidence. Such a lovely woman she had grown to be, strong and direct like Mary, with the same thick blonde hair and flashing blue eyes, her tall frame elegantly dressed but always with a bohemian flair. Yet like Tom, she was a touch quixotic, a romantic idealist who had yet to marry.

“All right. I am ready. Let us see… Amelia stand between them. Ahh, good, a hand on both their shoulders, I like that. Justine you stand next to your mother, and Imogen, you next to Susan. Hmmm… turn into your mother a bit Justine, that’s it. Lovely, really, the light is positively incandescent.”

While Jenny began to sketch, Charlotte asked, “And what will you title this, dear Jenny?”

“Let me think… how does _Susan and The Four Temperaments_ sound?”

A round of laughter circled the group.

“But then we must decide who is what temperament,” said Amelia.

“We have the first,” said Jenny. “You have claimed Choleric my dear cousin.”

“Then I must be Sanguine,” said Charlotte.

“And Justine is surely Melancholic,” said Susan.

“That leaves Phlegmatic for Imogen. Does it suit?” asked Justine.

“Calm and quiet, practical… I would say it suits her,” said Jenny.

“But which are you?” Imogen asked Susan, patting her arm.

“I am the one who loves you all so dearly,” was her reply.

Charlotte took the hand of her beloved friend and looked upon her with glistening eyes. “And that love we return fourfold, dearest Susan.”

“Yes,” Imogen said, and leaned her head against Susan’s shoulder. The great lady instinctively reached up her hand and cupped the girl’s cheek.

“Ah, stay that way,” said Jenny. “The picture is now perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for your continued love and support. We'll be jumping ahead in time next chapter.


	81. Unexpected Consequences

ONE YEAR LATER.

**The Thirty-First of July, 1841**

_Sanditon_

“But are you certain?” asked Amelia.

Phoebe perched on the edge of Amelia’s bed, having made an unexpected call at the Old Parker House. She crumpled her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, now as red as her hair. “Yes, I am certain.”

“How far along?”

“It would be nearly three months. I saw him… it happened early May, when last they were here.”

“In London?”

“Yes…”

“Have you told him?”

“I wrote. They are at the villa in Bologna. The stepmother’s.”

“No reply?”

“Not yet. Oh, Amelia, what shall I do?” she wailed.

“Well you must tell your mother, of course.”

“She will kill me!”

“She will not. You must tell her, and she will tell your father.”

“He will kill Wilhelm…”

“I doubt that. He will insist Wilhelm marry you, though.”

“But the scandal! They will never forgive me!”

“Wilhelm will be of age in early December. His father will have to be involved, obviously, but the sooner you tell them, the smaller the scandal will look under your wedding gown.”

“He said he loved me.”

“Oh my dearest friend…”

“I know, I know… you warned me.” She began sobbing again, into her handkerchief. “I was a fool not to listen!”

“He is dreadfully persistent, I will vouch for you in that. But it is done now and you must take measures. Shall I come with you to tell your mother? Would it give you comfort?”

“Would you?” she asked, peering up from the cloth in her hand.

“Of course.”

Amelia followed the Babington carriage on Titan. When they arrived at Sanditon House, she waited with Phoebe in Lady Babington’s private sitting room. “Should I be here?” she asked. “Your mother will not take offense that I know?” Now upon reflection, perhaps it was a flawed plan.

“No. Stay. I will explain.”

The two young women held hands, sitting side by side on an elegant settee upholstered in pale blue silk damask, each lost in her own thoughts. Lady Babington swept in, surprised at first to see Amelia, then greeted her with a warm smile.

“Amelia, how lovely to see you. I trust all is well with your family?”

“Yes, Lady B, they are well.”

Esther seated herself in her usual chair and folded her hands in her lap, assuming the girls had some sort of scheme they wished for her to approve. “All right, what is on your mind, Phoebe?”

Phoebe released Amelia’s hand and began to wring her own. “Mother, as you know I have had two unsuccessful Seasons.”

“Not to worry, dear. Truly, it means nothing.”

“Well,” she swallowed, “I have asked Amelia to be here because I sought her counsel earlier and she advised me to come directly home and tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“She is here for moral support, and, well…” She looked at Amelia, who nodded sympathetically.

“Phoebe?” asked Esther, furrowing her brow.

Phoebe took a deep breath. “You remember Wilhelm, the future Count Mendorff?”

“Of course I do. They were in London this spring, we dined with them twice.”

“Yes, but during that time, I saw… I _met_ with Wilhelm.”

“Without telling us?”

“Yes. And I am afraid there has been… an unexpected consequence.”

Esther had been leaning forward in her seat studying Phoebe intently with a puzzled expression. At Phoebe’s last two words, _unexpected consequence_ , the understanding flooded through Esther and all expression left her face. She let out a tiny gasp, her lips slightly parted, eyes fixed on her daughter. In barely a whisper she said, “Dear God, tell me you did not. You are not.”

Phoebe’s lower lip quivered and the sobs began again. She numbly nodded her head, staring at her hands in her lap. Amelia put her arm around her friend, trying to give some comfort.

Esther leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling, the tips of her fingers covering her mouth. After a minute or two, she composed herself. To Amelia she said, “I wish to thank you for the sound advice you gave Phoebe. I would like to speak with her privately now. Please give my regards to your parents.”

Amelia embraced her weeping friend and then stood to address her friend’s mother. “Yes, Lady Babington, I will relay your regards. Good day.”

“And Amelia, you will keep this to yourself. Lord Babington and I would be most displeased if this situation should become known.”

“Of course, I will not say a word, not even to my mother.”

“Yes, I believe you are trustworthy. Thank you.” When they were alone, she said in a matter of fact way, “He will marry you, of course. Not ideal, but at least he is a nobleman’s son and heir to a title. Your father must be told immediately.”

“He is in Bologna,” Phoebe mumbled. “I wrote to him already.”

“I see. Did he speak of marriage? Was that how he seduced you?”

“Yes. He said he loved me. He has been writing letters you remember. He asked Father’s permission last year after the Midsummer ball.”

“And what was the content of these letters?”

“They were pleasantries at first. After a time, they were full of poetry and declarations of love.”

“Why did he not ask for your hand when they were here in London? You are a Viscount’s daughter, not some street urchin.”

“He said he would, but he did not.”

“Did he ask you? Formally I mean. _Will you be my wife?”_

“Not that way. He would write: _I shall marry you someday._ Or he would call me his future wife.”

“But he never _asked_ you, even when he seduced you?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“All right. Go rest now. I will speak to your father.”

###

Amelia was glad for Titan. She rode part of the way home along the beach, galloping hard, the wind and spray in her face. _Damn that Wilhelm!_ Would he have done the same to her if she had fallen for him? Abandoned with a child, leaving her to face her parents alone. He plied Phoebe with the same flowery poetry. The same hollow declarations. More than ever now, Amelia cherished John’s respect for her, his ability to rein in his desire, to wait.

Amelia had warned Phoebe of Wilhelm’s menacing conduct after she refused him. But Phoebe was already smitten by his delicately handsome face and continental airs. His accent. None of which made a dent in Amelia’s heart, but Phoebe was such a gentle, trusting soul. She had not her mother’s keen eye and razor sharp wit. Instead she was said to take after her late Aunt Augusta in disposition, Lord Babington’s beloved younger sister who perished from illness at a young age, a fact Amelia knew would draw even greater ire from the man when he heard of Wilhelm’s guile.

SEVEN WEEKS LATER.

**The Seventeenth of September, 1841**

Babington Hall, Sussex

Charlotte watched Phoebe dance with her new husband, thinking how artfully the wedding gown disguised her condition. She and Sidney had known since the day after Babington found out, when he stormed into the Old Parker House and pulled Sidney into his study to rant and rave how he would kill the pale little cur. “Eliza’s revenge” he had called him among other things polite society did not repeat.

The count and his family returned immediately to England when the news arrived. He was not unhappy with the match, nor the marriage agreement, and as London society meant nothing to him, he cared not about the scandal. Lord and Lady Babington were forced to keep the marriage a quiet affair rather than the grand wedding they would have provided. As their own had been and generations before, the wedding of their eldest daughter took place in the Babington Hall chapel at the ancestral country estate, a select group of family and friends invited, followed by a reception outside on the carefully manicured grounds.

Phoebe was a radiant bride, the early distress of her unexpected consequence now behind her. She had asked her best and oldest friend, Amelia Parker, to stand up for her. Wilhelm, having no friends in the country, asked her brother, Jay Parker, to do him the honors. Immediately after the reception, the newlyweds would leave to stay at a nearby manor house Lord Babington had taken for a week. Afterwards, they would remain at Babington Hall, where the child would be born in early February.

Esther was not about to allow her first grandchild to come into the world anywhere other than England, and not without her present. The Babington country estate was secluded and would provide the needed shelter from the prying eyes of society. Esther was most fond of the great Elizabethan manor, with its ornate plastered ceilings and grand mullioned windows, always wishing to spend more time there than gaudy Sanditon House. After her aunt’s death and the responsibilities that followed, it seemed they visited the ancestral home less frequently. That would change now with the babe coming. Then, after a suitable amount of time, Phoebe and Wilhelm would reside in the London home near St James’s Square that had originally belonged to Campion, not far from their own London home.

A festive dinner was served in the Great Hall that evening for the guests, the newlyweds having departed. At the end of a long day and evening, everyone retired to their rooms. In an unfamiliar but most comfortable bed, Sidney and Charlotte, whose own twenty-second wedding anniversary was but three days away, lay on their backs watching the candlelight dance and play on the patterned plasterwork above them.

“Had it been Amelia, I do not know if I could have comported myself with Babington’s grace,” Sidney mused.

“Of course you would have. But it would never be Amelia.”

“Yes, you’re right. I do think it could have been Lora, though.”

She turned her head on the pillow to look at him in surprise. “Why would you think so?”

“Something I heard Jay say today.”

She sat straight up, slapped both hands against her thighs before twisting back to look at him. “What? Had they gone so far?”

He chuckled and pulled her back down. “Calm down, Mama. I don’t think they did. But they might had we not intervened.”

“Well, what did he say then? To whom?”

“To Adam, that he was glad his wedding would not take place under similar circumstances.”

“You are reading into his comment. You do not know the context.”

“No, but I know my son, and I know how he thinks, how any young man that age does.”

“Do you suppose he’s been with a woman before?”

“No idea. Never asked him, and he never offered. I have warned him and Adam to stay away from ladies of the night.”

A moment passed. “You did not say the _boarding houses?”_ she asked with a mock look of innocence.

He raised his eyebrows in challenge. “Are you seeking to start a row in the home of friends?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You.”

She giggled in reply, resting her outstretched hands on either side of her head, an old game of theirs, and in a blink of an eye he moved atop her and captured her wrists, holding her hands still.

“I was protecting you, Miss Heywood, and your delicate sensibilities. It was not a place for you to enter, under any circumstances, as I told you.”

“I had to protect _you_ from your male _susceptibilities_.”

“I rarely went there and had not for a very long time. You _know_ that.”

“Still…”

He responded with a low rumble and nuzzled her neck, continuing to hold her wrists.

She pushed back against his hands. “I had to shield you from all the ladies of the night you could have danced with.”

“I never wanted to dance with anyone but you,” he said at her breasts.

She fought a bit harder against his hold. “You wanted to throttle me, not dance with me.”

He came back up to look at her, teasing her lips with his. “You are entirely wrong.”

“Prove it.”

“If I release you will you behave?”

“Never.”

“Good,” he said, and slid his hands up her wrists to lace his fingers with hers.

###

The ceiling of Jay’s room did not have ornate plasterwork, but he gazed up at it anyway. As he had watched the wedding ceremony, he found himself comparing it to an arranged marriage of sorts. Outside of their surreptitious coupling, the bride and groom hardly knew one another. He had more than an inkling he and Lora would have ended up with the same hasty wedding had they not been caught that night and separated for a time. Truthfully, back then his thoughts were consumed with nothing but scheming to get her alone so he could crush those beautiful lips with his own, slip his hand under her skirt or inside her bodice. His second year at Oxford had turned into a ruse to be near her. He had cared nothing about his studies that year beyond impressing her father.

Had that maid not seduced him back in Saint-Tropez when he was thirteen, he might not have been so eager, but knowing the forbidden fruit made it twice as difficult to deny. He could still honestly say to Lora she would be his first, as the French girl never allowed him entry, finishing him with her hand. But his introduction to female anatomy had been a thorough one.

He had never been alone with Emmy, her mother’s watchful eyes missed nothing. He dared not even send words of love in a letter for fear her mother would read it. And Emmy was always proper, never did she cast suggestive looks or attempt to meet with him alone. He loved her beautiful mind and the lively discussions they had, but he had never even held her hand. It was a love that existed only in his mind, and in _his_ mind only.

Lora was entirely different. She made it clear she desired him, and her parents were not so watchful. He was eager to apply some of what he had learned at thirteen, and she responded in a manner he never dreamed possible. There was no doubt what would have transpired if he had spent another year at Oxford. They were dry tinder waiting for a spark.

During his first few weeks in London, what he considered an exile, his mood had alternated between fury and misery. The silent carriage ride from Sanditon with his father had been excruciating. Jay had stayed at Benson Place, as his father had just completed the purchase of the new house at that time, signing the papers and arranging for the work he wished done.

For one pound a week, Jay worked under Michael’s supervision. He learned how to decipher and create all manner of shipping documents, how to check a shipment against the bill of lading, command the men, organize and maintain the warehouses. On occasion, his thoughts wandered back to the first time his father had brought him to the docks, the trip he took to London as his prize for controlling his impulses. How ironic that his requested reward at the age of six was now the means his father used to teach him to control himself at age nineteen.

By the time his family arrived in late September for the annual wine shipments, the ice between Jay and his father had begun to thaw. He left the warehouse work those two weeks and assisted his father instead. Sidney had also tasked him with keeping an eye on the workers and their progress in the new house, which was nearly complete. Sidney heaped praise on Jay for his diligence and ability, and to Jay’s surprise, he welcomed it. He had longed for and missed his father’s warm smile and reassuring words.

Under Michael, the volume of Sidney’s imports and exports had increased four or fivefold. Michael was grateful for Jay’s assistance, especially when Elizabeth’s time came in January and their son, Peter Michael Roland, was born. By then, Jay had been at his position for five months and knew the work as well as Michael did.

Under his father’s direction he had overseen the furnishing of the Bedford Square house and hiring of servants, and when the family moved in during the late December visit, Jay possessed an overwhelming sense of pride in his efforts. When Jay and Lora finally married and moved into the second master suite in _the Square_ , as the house was now called to distinguish it from Bedford Place, Jay could honestly feel a sense of ownership. It was brilliant, really, what his father had done. He had not shipped his son off to some faraway place. Jay was not out of sight or mind, but a visible and valued cog in the family wheel, a position he had earned with his own hard work and aptitude. In June just passed, he had moved up into his administrative position, the one his father had originally planned for him.

And there were tangential benefits of Jay’s exile. He was near his best friend, John Conrad, who was himself working up in his career so he could marry the woman he loved. And then there were the letters. The letters to and from Lora. Physical distance had removed physical distractions, allowing them to explore the other’s heart and mind unfettered. Now here he was, less than two weeks from his twenty-first birthday, hovering not on the edge of an abyss, but at the start of life full of promise and lasting love. The wedding would take place on November fifteenth at St Aldate's Church in Oxford, a few days after Lora’s twenty-first birthday. In the end, the wait was no longer than they had originally planned. But the unexpected outcomes were immense.

His last thoughts before falling into sleep were of Lora, and her eyes of blue with the touch of brown, her musical laughter, her silken skin. In two months, they would belong to one another for the rest of their lives.


	82. The First Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the stimulating comments and support.

**The Fifteenth of November, 1841**

_Oxford_

John Conrad had never associated the word, _stoic_ , with his best friend, Jay Parker. Lively, passionate, brilliant… those words fit. But today, standing in front of the church waiting for his bride to appear, Jay _was_ stoic. Not nervous. Not moon-eyed in love. Motionless. Waiting. Nothing else existed for him but the church doors.

John’s gaze fanned out over those in the seats, settling on the one who gave him a sweet, knowing smile. Amelia. _Someday soon it will be reversed_ , she seemed to say. Jay will be standing with him, and he will be waiting for her. He smiled ever so slightly. She blinked like a cat in response, languid and heavy lidded.

Then came the sound of the doors opening. All heads turned to look. Loretta Jane and her father, Matthew Sinclair, entered the church along with Lora’s sister, Grace, passing the great arched wooden doors, beginning the walk down the aisle. Stunning she was, in the new fashion set by Queen Victoria, white lace, silk and satin, a wreath of orange blossoms from Susan’s orangery around her crown, the lace veil flowing from it. Upon seeing her, Jay’s expression grew into a riot of emotion, a euphoric grin stretching from ear to ear, his eyes alight with love.

Sidney turned to Charlotte, his eyes misty, hers brimming. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. Both found watching their son’s wedding flooded them with memories of their own. Jay was, after all, the first.

Distance and limited accommodations kept the Parker guest list smaller than it would have been if the wedding had occurred in London or even Sanditon, but a large celebration in London was planned after the couple settled, along with a trip to Willingden to introduce Lora to Jay’s beloved grandparents, who rarely ventured more than five miles from their home.

When the family passed through Winchester to pick up Adam, they also brought Marcus Pratt and Robert Crowe. Lord and Lady Babington came with Anthony, as did Francis and Clara Crowe with Sophie. Tom and Mary arrived alone, Georgiana and Otis with George. The entire French contingent had returned, and indeed, when Jay and Lora completed their vows and the service ended, Arthur’s grand, reverberating chuckle followed by, “Well done, you two!” broke the silence.

After they signed the registry, the couple emerged through the church doors and were showered with dried rose petals saved especially for the occasion from Charlotte’s garden that summer past. The wedding breakfast took place at the assembly hall on Ship Street, the very place the couple had their formal introduction noted her Uncle Andrew, the one who had done the honors that night. As was the custom, many more came to the breakfast than the actual ceremony, and the hall was teeming with Jay’s Oxford friends and the Sinclair family’s many acquaintances. The guests were greeted with a plentitude of food and drink, and many toasts for the newlyweds’ health and happiness filled the air. Then the musicians arrived and began to warm up for dancing and further merriment.

When Jay and Lora took to the floor for the first dance, the murmurs of approval passed through the crowd. How strikingly beautiful were they together, both lean and tall, his dashingly dark handsomeness the perfect balance for her ethereal flaxen beauty. The bride then danced with her father; the groom with his mother; mothers with fathers, sisters with brothers. Adam begged Amelia to leave John and dance with him. She laughed and took his arm.

“To what do I owe your attention, dearest brother?” she said with a teasing smile.

“I needed you to rescue me from the mothers,” he said with his usual half smile, slightly off to one side like Papa’s.

“Well, what do you expect? You appear far older than seventeen. A handsome young man such as yourself from a good family is considered a grand catch for a daughter.”

He rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

“Surely you will marry someday. I do not believe your staunch dislike of the idea is sincere.”

“No? I assure you it is. I don’t believe the woman exists who can tempt me to the altar. The rest of you will carry forward the _line_ , not I.”

“Oh Adam, why do you close your heart to love? You have so much inside you.”

His eyes darkened and she knew she touched a tender spot. “I am not Jay, nor am I Papa.”

“Thank goodness,” she said in jest. “No, you are Adam, your own unique self. And I promise you, someday there _will_ be a woman you desperately wish to take to the altar.”

He smirked a bit, then made her the topic. “Honestly, I was a surprised when _you_ decided at such a young age. I always thought you would be the independent woman, traveling the world and writing about it.”

“I still will be.”

“Not once the babes come along.”

“Preposterous. Mama traveled the length of France while she was with Justine. You may not remember, but I do. And John is not a man who needs to dominate his wife. We will be equal partners in everything, just as Papa and Mama are.”

“And when do you expect to wed? All talk of weddings has been of this one.”

“Perhaps another year. This last promotion for him is quite promising. His salary was increased threefold, making it much easier to save for a home for us.”

“And you have your endeavors with Jenny. I like that you’re writing and publishing.”

“Do you?”

“I do. I am most proud of you.”

She smiled at him. “We all love you, I hope you know. Mama is quite concerned about you. She believes you will end up far away.”

“I do have a plan of sorts.”

“You will have to tell me.”

“Someday.” He smiled down at her as the music ended and escorted her back to John.

The bride and groom departed in the early afternoon, beginning the trip back to London, they would stay their wedding night at an old and venerable coaching inn, The Swan, in Tetsworth. The groom’s father had presented them with a fine new carriage, a Clarence, as a wedding gift. Everyone followed them out to the street, shouting good wishes as they rode off, returning briefly to the Sinclair house to change into traveling attire, leaving Oxford on the turnpike heading east for London.

Once on their way, Jay arranged the blanket over Lora’s lap. “Are you warm enough, my love?” he asked, kissing her temple.

She leaned into him, sighing. “Quite.”

“And you do not mind spending our wedding night at an inn? We will have their best room.”

“It’s a fine inn I am told. The queen and her mother visited when she was still a princess.”

“Good.” He continued his kisses down her neck, whispering, “I cannot believe we are finally married.”

“But I _am_ glad that we waited. The best room in a fine coaching inn on our wedding night will be far and away better than what it could have been… our first time.”

“I most likely would have smuggled you up the back stairs to my room in Wadham.”

“And I would have gone willingly. It would have been a terrible mistake.”

He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her for a kiss. “At the moment it would not have been, but later, yes.”

“I hope we are as wise when we are parents.”

“I suppose we’ve had good teachers.”

“I do love your mother and father. The way they sometimes look at each other you’d think they were newlyweds.”

“So they’ve always been.” He looked out the window for a moment. “I asked my mother, just before I left for my exile in London…”

“Oh stop, you were not _exiled_.”

“It felt as if I were.” He bumped her shoulder with his.

“You asked your mother…”

“Yes, but I did not ask, rather demanded how they could believe knowing each other for only five months was long enough for them, but you and I had to wait.”

“Cheeky.”

“You know me,” he said with a slight smirk. “I expected the same answer as my father had given, that they were much older than we, and he had been fully able to support a wife, and so on. But she simply smiled, quite beatifically, and said,

 _We’ve known each other for all of eternity. Five months was ample time._ ”

“How poetic.”

“Yes. She often is.”

“Have we?”

“Known each other for eternity?”

She looked into his eyes. “Have we do you think?”

“I’ve told you what my father said, that you were waiting for me to discover you. When I heard your voice that day, looked up at you, I _knew_ you. I was undeniably drawn to you…” He nuzzled into her neck again, “… not just because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

“But it was I who discovered you. Holding my pamphlet. Sitting in the chair I had just vacated.”

“And were you drawn to me?”

“I have told you what I thought at that moment.” She smiled coquettishly. “You simply want me to tell you again.”

“I do. I wish for you to tell me every day.”

She laughed. “Glutton.”

“Come on…”

She laughed again. “I shall have to extract a large fee for it.”

“Anything, Mrs Parker, anything your heart desires.”

###

The celebration continued at the assembly room, with more dancing, and all were delighted with ten year old Aaron expertly guiding nine year old Imogen around the floor. Justine and Isabelle swooned over handsome boys and danced far more than they should have, but it was a celebration after all. Isabelle had just turned fourteen; Justine would be in January. Isabelle had grown to be a cool, dark haired beauty, her gray eyes sparkling with laugher. Justine’s tones were warm, her honey colored hair framing her heart shaped face. She had her mother’s full lips and upturned nose, and unique to her in the family, hazel eyes.

“I haven’t had a chance to ask, but how fares Phoebe since last we saw her?” Charlotte said to Esther.

“She carries in front, just as I did. But she hasn’t too much swelling in her feet and ankles, and most of the morning illness had already passed by the time she told us.”

“Good news. And Wilhelm?”

“He’s come around rather well, I think, now that the dreadful countess is gone. Honestly, she makes my dear departed aunt seem a saint. And the father, he is charming, but terribly overbearing. I think he was never happy with the boy, perhaps now glad to be free of him.”

“We never knew them well. Francis was the connection there. I met the count only once before he joined us on the steamer at Lisbon.”

“I simply do not understand why Wilhelm did not ask for her hand in the first place. But what’s done is done. As long as he is a good father and husband, Babington will not strangle him.”

They both snickered. “He came quite close did he?”

“Oh indeed.”

“I think you have handled it impressively and honorably. I am not so certain I could have done the same.”

“Of course you would, but I pray you never have to.”

Most noticeably missing among the guests was Lady Susan. She sent her regrets with Francis, along with the orange blossom wreath for Lora’s hair, saying she felt under the weather and could not make the journey. Francis, not wishing to spoil the day for Charlotte, waited until the festivities were on the wane before taking her aside.

“She seemed well when we last saw her in August, a bit more tired than usual, but I attributed it to her age. Is it serious, do you think?” asked Charlotte.

“The doctors don’t know what ails her. She is always fatigued, forgetful at times. Often chilled even before a roaring fire. She seems to be fading, I am afraid. We’ve decided to stay indefinitely. The lessee on my townhouse will be leaving in January. I shan’t take another.”

“You’ll move back in?”

“To take the burden off Susan, yes. She always feels she must be the grand hostess, as you well know.”

“And Étienne, he will also stay?”

“For the time being. Guillaume runs the vineyard for the most part anyway these days.”

Seeking fresh air and privacy, John requested and was given permission from Sidney to take Amelia for a short stroll. Donning hats and coats, the two stepped out onto Ship Street, heading towards Cornmarket Street. Amelia wrapped her arm through John’s as they walked.

“You never finished telling me of Mr Bell’s letter,” John said.

“Today has not been one for thorough discourse, has it?”

“It was a wedding. To be expected. So tell me, is he impressed?”

“He is most impressed with our little chapbook, and interested in what else Jenny and I have planned. Perhaps we could turn _A Child’s Visit_ into an actual book. He thought Jenny’s woodcut illustrations were magnificent.”

“Children’s books? Is that definitely the direction you wish to head?”

“For a time, at least. Who was it who said, _Educate the children and it won't be necessary to punish the men?”_

“Hmm... I am back here in my old haunt of Oxford, I should recall that. Pythagoras?”

“Yes, I think you’re right.”

They walked in silence for a while. “You still have not fully commented on this,” he said, tapping his neatly clipped moustache with the tip of his index finger.

“I did,” she chuckled, “I said you look distinguished.”

He narrowed his eyes teasingly. “Ah, but what are your true feelings?”

“To say distinguished is not ample?”

“Come dear Amelia, you are never at a loss for words when it comes to opinion.”

They stopped at Broad Street to allow a carriage to pass by. “What I have been thinking is not entirely proper, if you must know.”

He looked down at her with curiosity. “Yes, I believe I must know. Do tell.”

He watched as an enchanting smile lit up her face. “I have been wondering if it will tickle when you kiss me.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, followed by a deep rolling laugh. “Ah, if only I could assist you in that discovery. The question would be where.”

As they approached St Mary Magdalen’s, he guided her to a small grove of trees on the church grounds. He turned to face her, and taking her hand in his, he drew off her glove, tugging lightly at each finger. Lifting her hand to his lips, he reverently kissed each knuckle as she watched, her eyes half closed. When he looked up from her hand, she ran her fingers across the clipped edge above his lips. “Now you are tickling me,” he said, kissing her fingertips.

“It’s far softer than I expected.”

He exhaled. “I am afraid this is not the time or place to continue. How I envy Jay at this moment.” He held the glove open for her to slip her hand back inside. They linked arms and headed back to the assembly hall.

###

The rooms at the Angel Inn and Hotel were largely occupied with wedding travelers. When everyone was settled and the halls quieted, the time came for musing and private discussion of all that transpired.

“A wedding night. How strange to think of my little boy in that way,” said Charlotte, sitting at the dressing table and smoothing cream into her hands.

Sidney stretched out in the bed, watching her finish. “He’s not been a little boy for some time.”

“Yes, I know.” She removed her robe and came to the bed, sliding under the covers as he lifted them for her. “I hope they will be good for each other. Love the way we have.” She settled into his arms, her head on his chest.

“I believe they will.” He stroked the arm she had tucked about his waist.

“How do you know?”

“They both have good hearts. They laugh together. They look at one another with passion, listen when the other speaks. They have equality of affection, do they not?”

“They do. As do John and Amelia, I believe.”

“As do I.” He kissed the top of her head.

They lay in silence for a few moments. She brought her hand up and slid it around his neck, pulling herself closer. “Susan is ill.”

He exhaled a sad little sigh. “Ah, I was afraid so. Francis told you?”

“He did.”

“Arthur alluded to it as well.”

“I find it very difficult to think about.”

“She may very well recover. We should not be maudlin just yet. She would not want it.”

“You’re right. She would not.” He continued to stroke her arm, softly, tenderly, as she brought her hand down to his chest. “I fear how devastated the children will be, especially the girls.”

“It will not be easy for any of us, my love. But we must go forward, as she must. We will all pass eventually. The best we can do is prepare ourselves and those we love. Susan will do just that. I am sure of it.”

“It breaks my heart. Such a distressing note on a joyous day.”

“She would not want it so. She would never wish to take away from Jay's happiness. But we are tired, and have two days journey ahead of us.” He turned and shifted her to the pillow so he could shut the lamp. He slipped back under the covers and held her face in his hands. “Sleep. All will seem clearer in the morning.” He wrapped her in his arms and softly hummed old folk tunes and lullabies until her breathing slowed and he knew she was asleep.


	83. Mirrors, Windows, and Anchors

**The Seventeenth of November, 1841**

_Sanditon_

Sidney Parker rested in his venerable leather desk chair, his hands on his chest, fingers laced. On the desk before him sat a week’s worth of mail, waiting to be sorted, opened, read. He found he was not currently of that disposition. After two days of traveling back from Oxford, they had arrived but an hour ago. He’d been taking stock of his life during the journey home, assuming most people did when their first child married.

Sidney had not anticipated his first would marry so young, but Jay made a good match and married for love. He seemed content with his choice to continue working in the family business. Sidney combed through his memories of Jay, selecting a few to savor. The first time he wrapped those tiny fingers around his father’s. The first unassisted steps. The little boy’s unreserved elation when he beheld his new baby sister. Therein lay Jay Parker’s keynote: joy. No matter his impetuousness, his dramatic inclinations, his heart beat in tune with happiness. He was far more like Arthur in that sense, as Arthur was like their late mother.

Amelia had chosen young, which surprised Charlotte as much as it did Sidney, but John was an honorable man, intelligent and capable. One of the few Firsts in Mathematics at Oxford in his year. Moving up quickly at the GWR. Of all their children, he and Charlotte worried the least about Amelia. Look at her, not quite nineteen and discussing her next book with a publisher. He could only imagine what she would accomplish if women were allowed the same opportunities as men. At times he feared for the two of them, and the scorn society would surely cast their way because of John’s heritage, but if anyone could navigate those waters, it would be Amelia.

And then there was Adam. How could a man know his son as well as he knew himself and yet not fully understand the boy? After the incident with Jay, a brief opening arose, furthered by the gift of his pony and decisive victory over Hatton. But once he was at Winchester, those first few months of loneliness and dismay, he shut himself away again, even though the situation was more than remedied by the end of the term that year. Adam was determined to leave the family haven, seeming to believe the only way to prove himself was to forsake his birthright. Charlotte was nothing short of distraught over him. Sidney, in all honesty, knew not what to do other than let him go when the time came. It made no sense to try to stop him. Not Adam.

Justine… he wished for her to excel in her musical talent, but he also feared she might fall into the hands of an impresario who did not have her best interests in mind. He and Charlotte had long ago adopted a watchful stance where Justine was concerned, giving her a large field in which to roam with a secure fence around it. She was still young of course, and they did what they could to moderate her romantic, idealized notions. If only she possessed some of Amelia’s pragmatism. Susan’s illness and passing would surely crush her.

And then there were the last two, more than a decade away from coming of age. At the wedding celebration, something about the two of them dancing together… more of an intuition than anything seen or heard. Aaron had taken to Imogen from the first day Sidney brought her home, and the two had been inseparable ever since. But they were not related. No shared blood, not a single legal tie. She was a Dougherty. A child they took in, raising as their own. What would happen when those two began to mature in a few years? Was it proper they were so close? Of course, they had never slept in the same bed, and rarely even the same room except a few times at Bedford Place years ago when several children shared the nursery. He had yet to discuss his thoughts with Charlotte, as the news of Susan had shaken her to the core. But he would when the time was right.

A light knock came on the door that he recognized as Amelia’s. “Come,” he said.

And she did, with the effortless grace she always possessed. “I wondered if there was a post for me, Papa.” Upon seeing the stack on the desk, she continued, “Oh, you’ve not yet looked. Shall I assist you?”

He pushed the stack in her direction. “Please. I’m afraid I’ve been preoccupied.” As she sorted through, he asked, “Are you expecting something?”

“Perhaps. I hoped there would be a letter from Mr Bell.”

“About the book?”

She nodded. “Do not worry. I know you must review and give permission for any contracts.”

“I wasn’t worried. Quite the contrary.” Her search proved futile, but the mail was sorted. “Could you spare a few minutes with your old papa?” he asked. When she’d taken a seat beside him he continued. “Have you spoken to Adam about his plans for the future?”

“Not much, really. He intends to stay in England for at least a year after Winchester, to apprentice with Michael as Jay did.”

“And then up to Cumberland.”

“So he says. After that, France, for an indefinite time. I know he discussed it with Étienne at the wedding.”

“Yes, so he told me. Your mother fears he will not come back. Do you have any inkling why he wishes to leave?”

She shook her head. “He is compelled, by what I know not. Do you?”

“I have a few thoughts.”

She smoothed her skirt, weighing her words. “Perhaps Adam’s soul has questions for which he must leave to find the answers. I believe Jenny is the same.”

He nodded, smiling at her perspicacity. “What they seek they cannot find at home.”

“John once told me about the Hindu belief of the cycle of death and rebirth. That our souls keep coming back to make things right until we finally achieve a state of bliss.”

“The ancient Greeks had a similar idea of continuing incarnations until the soul achieved purity.”

“Of course, we speak heresy,” she said with a mischievous smile.

“Not in this house. We speak philosophy.” They shared a small laugh.

“Shall I leave you to your thoughts, then?”

“Not for long. Will you tell your mother I wish to see her when she has a moment?”

“Of course.” She stood and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Do you have your spectacles or should I fetch them?”

“In my pocket,” he said. “Thank you. For everything.”

How he would miss her when she left to marry, he thought, rising, crossing to the window and the view that could always bring him back to the present. His fiftieth birthday had come and gone but three weeks ago. He didn’t feel fifty. He could still ride and swim and box as well as he ever had, and nothing more than a glimpse of the nape of Charlotte’s neck could rouse him. Other than the silver in his hair, he didn’t think he looked fifty. He never saw his own father at that age; he was in Antigua. Not long after his father died. How many more years did he, himself, have left? Susan was only fifty-six, the same age as Tom and Étienne. Were they truly going to lose her? Perhaps they should spend Christmas in London this year, to be close to her.

At the sound of the door opening, he smiled. “There you are,” he said over his shoulder.

“You summoned me?” Charlotte slipped under his arm and wrapped hers about him.

“I longed for you.” He brought her close and kissed her temple.

“We’ve been sitting next to each other for two days,” she teased.

“Not the same in a carriage with the children.”

“No, you’re right.” She looked at him and smiled. “I should have a portrait painted of you standing at this window, hand on your hip, gazing out at your domain.”

“I’ve tried to remember if my father ever did so, but I have no recollection of it.”

“You were so young when you left. Not much older than Adam.” She sighed then, and he knew her thoughts.

“Amelia and I had a brief discussion.”

“Did you?”

“Mmm. She posits that Adam’s soul is seeking answers to questions that can be found only if he leaves.”

She burrowed into him a little deeper. “I have thought the same. And even if the answers were here under his nose, he would choose not to see them. He believes his best and truest self awaits him somewhere else.” She paused for a moment, watching out the window as an errant flock of waxwings gorged on rowan berries, a bit far to the west of their usual wintering spots. “Waxwings. It truly is winter.”

“We should spend Christmas in London,” he said, almost a whisper against her hair.

“Yes. It may be her last. Go in for Jay and Lora’s celebration and stay through the new year.”

“We’ll need to prepare the children, especially Justine and Imogen.”

“When we hear more from Francis.”

“Of course.” He considered for a moment bringing up Aaron and Imogen, but decided this was not the time.

**The Twenty-First of November, 1841**

_London_

Lora woke to the nearly imperceptible sounds of the maid attending the fire for the morning. She was glad for it, as the room had grown quite cold during the night. Still, under the heavy bedcovers, she was warmed by her husband, his arm firmly around her waist. When the door latch clicked, she turned her head to look at him, slumbering soundly in the dim light, facing her with his cheek on the pillow. Long curls fell across his forehead, full lips slightly parted, the ebb and flow of his breathing soft, like a distant sea. How beautiful he was. His face, his body, his heart. To think she would spend her life with him, have children with him, grow old with him. He kept repeating it was he who was the lucky one, but she could not imagine ever having found a better man than the one next to her. The moment their eyes met in the tea shop a voice had whispered to her, _Here is the man you will marry._

Thank goodness her sister had told her what happens in a marriage bed. Her mother talked about married love as beautiful and not a chore, to be enjoyed, but no hints about what to expect. Jay had already touched her in ways that left her breathless and weak-kneed, giving her cause to explore herself. But Grace explained the _workings,_ for which Lora was immensely grateful. How did men already know what to do, she wondered, and exactly where and how to touch a woman? Jay maintained she was his first, and she believed him. Besides, they belonged to each other now, body, mind, and soul.

He stirred, as if her thoughts awakened him. His eyelids fluttered and opened, still drowsy, followed by recognition of her, of them, together in the bed. Then came his sweet smile, and his hand left her waist, traveling up her side, lingering on her breast, coming finally to stroke her cheek. “It’s been a week and I still cannot believe you’re next to me when I wake.”

“But I am, and always will be.”

**The Ninth of December, 1841**

_London_

“It is not uncomfortable, then, to have two mistresses of the house?” asked Susan.

Charlotte, sitting at Susan’s bedside, had come alone to visit, having arrived in London yesterday. Susan had rallied of late, feeling somewhat improved, and they had yet to tell the children of the severity of her illness.

“Not at all. She does live there now, permanently, whereas we come and go, so it makes sense for her to run the household. In fact, it will be easier for me to leave the planning to her. She will consult me, of course, learn our tastes and habits. I never had a mother-in-law, so I’m not certain how to be one. I suppose Mary is the closest to one for me. At Bedford Place, I deferred to her if we were all there together, and handled things myself if just our family came. But the Square does feel like our own family home.”

“And Lora is family now.”

“She is. They are such a good match.”

“I hope to come to the celebration. I am willing my strength to return.”

“And what did the doctors have to say on their last visit.”

“Ah, they continue to treat the goiter with iodine,” she said, waving her hand dismissively at the swelling in her neck. “Other than that, they talk of imbalances in the humours… the usual. Francis still carries on about taking me to France, where they aren’t _medical barbarians_ …” She chuckled and Charlotte joined her. They both knew full well Francis’s opinion of the British medical system, although he did give it some credit for being slightly improved.

“We have said nothing to the children, other than you are under the weather. They do wish to visit.”

“And where are they all today?”

“Sidney and Jay are over at the office and warehouses with Michael. He took Aaron with him as well. Adam will be home from Winchester on Saturday.”

“And I remember now, the girls are off on a shopping trip with Arthur, Francis and Diana.”

“Amelia is keeping Lora company. They get along very well, sisters already.”

“Fortunate, then, as we will not be disturbed. I have much to discuss with you. Will you assist me in sitting up a bit more?”

“Of course!” She propped pillows behind Susan and arranged the covers.

“Much better. Now, you must understand I tell you this to give you and Sidney time to make ready for what will come.”

“Have you spoken to Sidney?”

“Not yet. I wish for you to know first.”

“You know I will do anything for you, dear Susan.” She took Susan's hand. It was cool, the skin dry and fragile.

“Yes,” she smiled in her serene, knowing way. “You have never been anything less than a dear and true friend. You and Sidney have given me the family Napoleon’s war took from me. 

Charlotte felt her eyes well up.

“Pish posh,” said Susan, “no tears my dear girl. I could have remarried ten times over had I wished. Precisely the reason for my particular friend.”

Charlotte brushed her fingers across the corners of her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, he is long gone now, and I suppose there is no sense in keeping it from you. I was not the mistress of George, not as Prince or King.”

“But we sat with the two of you in the Royal box at the opera.”

“Oh, yes, we were very close, intimate a few times when he was still the Prince Regent, but I must confess I never enjoyed it. Even then he was corpulent and unhealthy, unpleasantly so, especially in comparison to my dear late husband, Trevor, so much like your Sidney, tall, trim, strong. King George was a man of abundant sophistication and equally abundant appetites, which in the end caused his rather ghastly death. But ours was a friendship based on mutual needs.”

“How so?” Charlotte could not help but find herself intrigued with this revelation.

“In exchange for his protection, I was his eyes and ears in society. The rumor that I was his mistress kept at bay the men lurking about hoping to marry a wealthy widow. And it elevated my social status considerably, giving me access to many different people. In return, I could convey the mood of society to him, the unfettered thoughts and opinions of his subjects.”

“But didn’t they take care around you, knowing… believing you were his mistress?”

“The men to a certain extent, but rarely the women. And though we appeared together in public on occasion, it was always a rumor, never substantiated. Of course, His Majesty had many genuine mistresses, including the longstanding affair with Mrs Fitzherbert.”

“The one he illegally married.”

“The very one. He loved her to the end.”

“Fascinating.”

“But I have been sidetracked, for that was not what I wish to tell you. I have met with my solicitor, to ensure all my bequeathments are understood and the paperwork in order.”

Charlotte began to speak, but Susan shushed her. “I know I will not last much longer, my dear Charlotte, and I needed to see these matters were attended to. Now, as I said before, you have given me the family I love. My own flesh and blood have no need for anything of mine, nor would they appreciate it. They are all provided for and then some. Besides, we have never been close, rarely see each other. And so I have arranged for your children, in particular the three girls, to be the beneficiaries of my estate.”

“But…”

“What? They do not deserve it? It is too much? Nonsense. The three boys will receive 5,000 each. The three girls 15,000 each. The inherited funds will not be fully theirs until they reach majority, and I hope Sidney will accept my request to manage them. If he does, and the children wish access to their funds beforehand, he has discretion to do so. This home and Covington House will be placed in a trust for perpetuity, to be enjoyed by the girls and their heirs, the remaining estate funds to be held in trust for service and upkeep of the two. There is quite a bit more, details of which I will discuss with Sidney.” Her strength left her as the words did. She lay her head back against the pillows.

“Would you like a drink of water?” asked Charlotte.

“Please. And ring the bell for tea, would you?”

They spoke no more about the matter. Instead the conversation was filled with Lora and Jay’s wedding, Amelia and Jenny’s book, Adam’s determination to return to Étienne’s vineyard to learn winemaking, tales of Aaron and Imogen and their love of animals. Susan was eager for the famed woman pianist, Lucy Anderson, to hear Justine and Isabelle play. She would arrange a tea when she was feeling better.

By late afternoon, Charlotte had bid Susan goodbye was preparing to leave when the others returned from their shopping trip, Justine already dropped off at the Square. Charlotte and Francis stepped into one of the small front reception rooms to speak, the very same one she and Sidney met in all those years ago, when she struck him in fury and he accepted it, vowing he would never hurt her again. Then it hit her with the same force her fury had: Susan would soon be gone.

Susan. Her graceful presence, her gentle, perceptive ways. The unfathomable way their lives had intertwined from the moment they met, the befuddled young woman in a borrowed golden gown and the elegant grand dame of the ton, a most unlikely pairing. Again in that reception room as she had that August day in ‘19, Charlotte collapsed into tears, not of anger this time, but of abject sorrow. The pain was equal. And Francis, her dear brother who had known and loved Susan for an even longer time, drew Charlotte to him and held her as they wept together.

When she arrived home at the Square, she slipped up to her chamber unnoticed, and asked Kellow to say she was resting from a slight headache, and to please send Mr Parker when he arrived. She sank down onto the bed, still fully clothed, exhausted.

The light was nearly gone when she felt Sidney’s arms around her, his hand on her forehead, voice full of concern. “Are you unwell, my love? What is it?”

She flung her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s all too much. I cannot bear the thought of losing her.”

He pulled her into his lap, there, where he sat on the edge of the bed, holding her tightly. “My dearest love, you must find the strength in yourself, for Susan and the children. I know you can; you are made of sterner stuff.”

“It’s more than you realize, Sidney. She is bequeathing her entire estate to our children.”

He pulled back to look at her, incredulous. “What?”

“Yes, she told me today. She will speak to you as well.”

“I received a note from her this morning just as I left. She wishes to see me privately. Now I understand why.”

“She wants you to manage it for them until they are of age. Most of it will go to the girls. She says she will give you the details.”

“But why? What of her family?”

“She said we are her family. Her flesh and blood want for nothing.”

“Nor do we.”

“She did not mean it that way. It isn’t charity. It’s the legacy of her life she leaves to them. She believes they will appreciate it, and keep her memory. Her family will not; it will simply be money to them. I’m certain there will be bequests of personal items and the like to others. She did not say.”

“Her townhouse, the country estate?”

“To the three girls.”

He shook his head and rubbed between his eyes, exhaling with a whooshing sound. “I am stunned. Truly. I never expected anything such as this.”

“You see?”

“I’ll visit her tomorrow. Soon we will have to divulge the extent of her illness to the children, but nothing of the rest of it.”

“Of course.” She leaned her head against his chest. “Was it a good day for you?”

“In fact it was. They’re a fine team those two, Jay and Michael. I’m exceedingly proud of both.”

“Have you anything planned with Adam?”

“Not yet. I’ll feel the situation out when he arrives.”

She looked up at him with a softer expression. “You haven’t kissed me hello.”

“You haven’t kissed _me_ hello, either.”

“Come here then, you.” She angled her head so he could kiss her properly, long and satisfying, conveying all the unspoken thoughts and feelings.

“I suppose we should dress for dinner, not enough time for anything else,” she said between kisses.

“Well, lack of time never stopped us before, but I’m feeling more inclined towards savoring you later.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It is.”

“I stood with Francis today in the same reception room at Susan’s where I struck you. I broke down and cried, again.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“Francis cried, too. We cried together.”

“Charlotte, I’ve never broken the vow I made that day, have I?”

“No, you have never again hurt me or yourself, because what you did for Tom back then hurt us both equally.”

“Yes. What a fool I was to think I could ever live without you, my beacon to keep the ship of my life away from the rocks.”

“If I’m your beacon, then you are my anchor, keeping me safely moored.”

“Shall we try to see how many analogies we can make? If I’m your tree, you are my mountain?” He smirked as only he could.

She nipped his chin. “You have _already_ used that one, calling me Mount Olympus.”

“So long ago, that was. Surely I can use it again?”

“Are there rules to this?”

“You’ll make your own anyway, if I know you.” She chuckled and he took her underneath the chin with his finger. “There you are, back again. Let’s dress for dinner shall we. I’ll ring for fresh water. Now, up you go. We have appearances to make, as if nothing is amiss. Are you up for it?”

“Sidney?”

“Hm?”

“You are my anchor you know.”

“And you, my love, are my light.”


	84. Another First and a Second

ONE YEAR LATER.

**The Nineteenth of December, 1842**

_London_

Amelia pulled her hand away from John’s and stood, unsure of which emotion she felt more keenly: anger or astonishment. “Your thinking is completely irrational.”

“Why is it irrational for a man to wish to provide for his wife?” John kept his voice low, not wanting to make a scene in the Parker’s sitting room.

She turned to face him, still standing. “You _will_ provide for me. But it makes no sense for us to lease a house when I already possess a fine one, waiting to be occupied.”

“You know I cannot afford the upkeep on it.”

“You don’t have to! The trust does. Susan’s _last words_ to me were that we use her gift and find happiness in it.”

“The Manchester Square house will suit us just as well.”

“It’s unfurnished. And we will live at the whim of a landlord.”

“The other is at the whim of trustees and two more beneficiaries.”

She scoffed and marched to the window, crossing her arms defensively, staring out at Bedford Square Garden across the street. After a moment she let out an exasperated sigh. “You are making excuses. The trustees have no say as to how we occupy the property. My sisters are years away from living there, and should they later on, there is room enough for all. And you are fully aware of _why_ she placed it in a trust.”

“Yes indeed, to keep marauding men from claiming it through marriage, myself included I suppose.” His voice held a more than a tinge of sarcasm.

She turned on him, eyes afire. “Is _that_ what this is all about? Your pride? Your sacred right as a man to _own_ your wife?”

He leapt from the settee and went to her, shaking his head adamantly. “No! How can you say such a thing?”

“What, then?” she snapped back.

He dropped his head, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to calm himself. “Amelia…” he gently took hold of her upper arms. She shrugged his hands away.

“No, you will tell me. I have known you for over _six years_ and we have never argued until now. About money of all things.”

“It isn’t about money.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, moving to the fireplace, leaning his elbow on the mantle. He kept his back to her as he spoke, his voice raspy and deep. “I have been saving for two and a half years now, living in a small room in a cramped boarding house. Working, saving, and waiting for you. Finally I have enough for a year’s lease on a fine house in a respectable neighborhood and with help from my father, I will furnish it in any style you wish. Finally, you will be twenty, and I am established; I can afford this house. I can provide for you in the manner you are accustomed to. _Finally_ I can ask to marry you, formally, honorably.” He turned to face her. “I don’t want your money. I want _you_.”

For a time they stood, looking at one another. She broke the silence. “But this is who I am now. This is what I will bring to the marriage, along with what my father provides. It does not negate your sacrifices and _our_ waiting for each other. The money you have saved can be used for anything – a new carriage, our honeymoon, for our children’s future. Do you think Jay feels he provides less for Lora and their child soon to be born because they live here, in a house that belongs to our father?”

“It’s different for Jay.”

“How so?”

It was his turn to scoff. “He is a pure blooded Englishman.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop it. All the more reason we should be thankful for Susan’s gift. Otis Molyneux had almost nothing when he married Georgiana, other than three years in the Navy and a scar over his eye. Everything they have was _her_ legacy from _her_ father. You don’t see him suffering from shame.”

“Don’t you understand? Everyone will think I’ve married you for your money, that I’m an opportunist. They always think the worst of a man like me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Who cares what _they_ think, whoever _they_ are? I know it isn’t true. Our families and all our friends know it isn’t true. Can you not simply be happy we have this? It was given to me in love, John, because she loved me.”

Without warning, the sorrow rose in her throat, forcing tears to well up and spill over. She turned away from him and wiped her eyes, attempting to tamp down all the emotions from that day in late May when they lost her, when drizzle fell from a sky of opalescent gray. Three days prior, Susan had called for her most beloved friends to attend her one by one. For each she imparted a special message, one of love and hope. The following day, she slipped into a deep sleep, never to awaken. _I hope you will be happy here, my dear girl, you and John._ Amelia could still hear her voice.

John came to her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “The last thing I wish to do is make you unhappy or cause you distress.”

“Perhaps I should go away for a time. Paris to visit Jenny, or leave with Adam next month for Cumberland.”

He tightened his hands on her shoulders. “Please don’t do that. We could be married in two months, even less.”

“And my address will be Grosvenor Square and yours, Manchester Square.”

She felt his sigh ruffle her hair. “Would you truly leave me, now, after all this time?”

“Would you truly force me to because your pride will not allow you to admit I am right?”

“Are you right?”

“We can redecorate our living quarters any way we wish. The servants are already in place, and have served there for many years. Her personal belongings have been distributed as she wished. What remains is an elegant, tastefully furnished home in one of the finest neighborhoods in London. Just as close to your work as Manchester Square is. And we will be the sole occupants for several years, at least until we have children.”

He stepped around so he faced her, keeping his large hands on her small but resolute shoulders, his eyes searching hers. “You will not see it my way, will you?”

“I see your way, but it makes no sense. Your hard earned money would be in a landlord’s pocket instead of ours while such a fine house, free for us to live in, sits vacant.”

He studied her, his expression softening, then brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. “Very well then. I cannot refute your logic. Nor do I wish to ever make you unhappy. Do you promise me you will not run away to Paris or Cumberland or anywhere else?”

“I will run away only if you are with me.”

He exhaled a small laugh, followed by a grin spreading across his face. He turned his hand and slid his fingers up her jaw, cupping it against his palm. “Amelia Parker, will you marry me, give me the honor of being your husband?”

Her eyes rested on the hand she placed over his heart, then rose to his as the other touched his cheek. “Yes, John Jivan Conrad, I will marry you.”

And he cared not where they were or who might walk through the door; he leaned down and kissed her with a passion made from six years of waiting.

**The Sixth of January, 1843**

_London_

In the wee hours of the morning, the light from Charlotte’s candle pierced the dark bed chamber. She was both exhausted and elated. Not wishing to wake Sidney, she quickly entered her dressing room, closing the door before lighting the lamp. Kellow was long asleep, and the cold wash water would have to do. Lora’s labor had been a long one, but the babe was here and both were well. Charlotte had begun to unbutton her dress when the door opened and Sidney appeared, disheveled hair and sleepy eyes.

“Any news?”

“Ah, I’m sorry I woke you; I wanted to let you sleep.” She slid her arms around his neck. “We have a grandson.”

A drowsy grin spread across his face as her took her in his arms and kissed her. “Ah, boy, girl, makes no difference, only that both mother and child are well. They are, yes?”

“They are. Jay is rather overwhelmed, though.”

He chuckled. “To be expected. It was safe to leave them?”

“Hetty stayed for a time, while the midwife rested. Lora and the baby were sleeping when I left, Jay with them.”

He helped her remove the rest of her clothing and don her nightgown. “I look forward to seeing him in the morning. So it’s Samuel Jay, then, eh?”

“It is.”

“I once knew a rather unpleasant man in Antigua with the name. This will give me a new and far better association with it.”

She sat at the dressing table and removed the pins from her hair to brush it. “At least they did not name him, _Erasmus_ ,” she said with a tiny smirk.

He took the brush from her hand and continued the task himself. “That would be cruel.”

“It is a lovely name. Your mother’s brother. I cannot understand why you dislike it so.” She smoothed cream onto her face and hands.

He shrugged and set down the brush to plait her long tresses. “Do you truly wish to know?”

“There _is_ an actual reason other than you dislike the way it sounds?” She caught his eyes in the mirror.

He nodded. “He died in early childhood. As a small child I loathed having a dead boy’s name. Absurd, I know, but the dislike stayed with me.”

“Were you afraid you would die?”

“No, more that he might haunt me because he died so young and I took his name. The mind of a child works in strange ways, as we know.”

“We’ve been married over twenty-three years and you finally decide to tell me the real reason.”

He shook his head and gave a half smile. “What does it matter? We named Jay after my deceased father after all.” He held out his hand. “Come, Grandmamma. You must be tired.”

Once they were under the covers, enfolded in each other’s arms, Charlotte sighed. “The wedding next month and then a bit of quiet for a time.”

He chuckled. “Something will come up, I’m certain. Always does.”

“Adam will leave for Cumberland. Perhaps Charles can talk some sense into him.”

“I doubt it. He’s determined, my love. We cannot live his life for him. We have to let him go.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Sleep now. You need it.”

She nodded and drifted off the moment she closed her eyes.

**The Twentieth of February, 1843**

_Sanditon_

Charlotte held Amelia’s hand as they shared the settee in the private sitting room of the master chamber. “My mother gave me some very good advice on my wedding day that I will share with you, but I’m not certain what you know already… from others. So perhaps you should ask me questions.”

Amelia toyed with her mother’s hand, one of the few times she could remember feeling unsure of what to say. “You’re right, a certain person has told me most everything… because I asked. I wanted to know. I hope that does not shock you.”

“I always presumed she had.”

“You do not think less of her? Or me?”

“Or course not. I believe we all accept Jenny for who she is, without judging. I do hope she marries someday. And as for you…” She leaned over and touched her nose to her daughter’s. “From the time you were able to speak, even before, I have never known you _not_ to ask questions.”

“What did your mother tell you?”

“Ah, let’s see… Never let the sun set on your anger, and never take it to your marriage bed. And I can second that advice – it serves me and your father very well. And that there is joy to be had in your marriage bed. And believe me, sometimes that joy holds everything else together, easing tensions and strengthening your bond. It’s one of the vows after all, _with my body I thee worship.”_

“I understand it’s painful.”

“A little at first, you may even bleed a bit. It doesn’t last. Make certain you talk to him. It’s an act done together, sharing your love, not something he does to you. Remember that.”

“I shall.”

“What else?”

“Nothing I cannot ask later.”

Charlotte kissed her daughter on the cheek. “My sweet girl. I know you will be happy. Now, your father and Phoebe wait for you. The rest of us will leave. Let me have one last look at you.”

Her dress was made from a pale cream colored silk satin patterned with floral sprays. The form-fitting bodice had a low-cut neckline, and slim fitting sleeves with an elbow flounce of net and lace. The sleeves and generous skirt were trimmed with gathered tulle and applied strips of braid and buttons. A matching pelerine would keep her neck and shoulders warm. A pearl necklace and earrings shimmered in a pale glow. In her hair she wore Susan’s tiara, the lace veil flowing from it. 

“How beautiful you are. I am sure Susan is looking down and smiling.”

“I so wish she could have been here, Mama.”

“She is here, in our hearts.” She squeezed Amelia’s hands. “I’ll leave you now. Do not keep your groom waiting for too long.”

Jay had already left to be with John, taking Aaron and Imogen with him. Adam waited to escort his mother. They would ride with Justine, Lora and little Samuel to the church.

“She’s ready for you,” Charlotte said to Phoebe.

Sidney took his wife’s hand and kissed it. “Save me a seat,” he said with an achingly tender smile.

Moments after they had left, Amelia came into the Great room. Sidney thought his heart might burst with the strong and strange mix of emotions he felt: joy, and pride, and a tinge sorrow at losing his girl. “My beautiful daughter,” he said, quite misty eyed.

“Is she not?” said Phoebe. “You are so lovely my dear friend.”

They did not speak much on the ride over. Amelia admired her bouquet of winter greenery, with fragrant yellow narcissus and red tulips that Charlotte had brought to early bloom in the hothouse, tied with gold and cream colored ribbons. When the church doors were opened and Phoebe entered, and all heads turned as Sidney escorted his eldest daughter down the same aisle Charlotte had walked with her father. With Jay at his side, John waited, steady and composed, adoration in his eyes as she approached him. And when Sidney took her hand from his arm and placed it on John’s, he whispered what John Heywood had said years ago to him.

“Take good care of my girl.”

He took his seat next to Charlotte, who slipped her arm through his. He covered her small hand with his large one, leaning over to whisper in her ear, “Now I know exactly how your father felt.”

At times during the ceremony a babe fussed or a small child babbled. John and Amelia’s voices were as strong and clear as their love for each other.

The wedding breakfast was held in the Sanditon assembly rooms, with ample amounts of food and drink and toasts to the bride and groom. Edmund and Darshini Conrad had come down from Winchester with their youngest, David, along with assorted family and friends who were able to travel. Lieutenant James Parker, home from India, spent some time engaged in conversation with them. All the Tom Parkers were there. Jenny, who had an important showing of her work in Paris, made the channel crossing just in time.

Jay, with Lora at his side, introduced all the guests to his son, a hearty, handsome infant with a fine shock of curly chestnut hair. Shortly thereafter, they regretfully took their leave and returned to the Old Parker House, a boisterous celebration being no place for a six week old babe to stay for long.

The Molyneuxs, Crowes, and Babingtons and all their children were in attendance. Amelia was now the third child in their circle to marry. Phoebe’s daughter, a year old this month, was carried about by her doting father, Wilhelm. Katherine Eliza was fair haired and petite, with large blue eyes like her father and his mother. Maggie with Robert, and Elizabeth with Michael represented the Heywood side, as did Frederick. After nearly a year away, the French contingency had returned the previous autumn. They sent their love and regrets.

The newlyweds would spend a few days in one of the best Sanditon apartments before heading back to London. After much dancing and merriment, the time came for them to leave. Though it was only a few blocks, John’s new carriage was called for.

Amelia tossed her bouquet just before she left, all the young unmarried ladies crowding around her, save Jenny, who hung to the rear of the group. The bundle of greens, tulips and narcissus had other ideas, and sailed through the air landing directly into Jenny’s hands. At first she appeared stunned, then colored beautifully and laughed out loud. Mary wrapped her daughter in a loving embrace, whispering in her ear, “I so hope one day, my lovely, you will find the man who is worthy of you.”

The guests followed the newlyweds out to the street with a great uproar of cheering and singing. Inside the carriage, they both breathed out sighs of relief and elation.

He took her hand and kissed her finger and the ring on it. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

She swatted his leg affectionately with her other hand. “Do you think I would not? You’d come home with Jay. We were out on the terrace having tea.”

“That was the very moment I fell in love with you. Did you know it, at the time I mean?”

“Not just then. Two days after, when you came out and sat with me early in the morning, I had an inkling you liked me. When I fully looked into your eyes for the first time. I had been avoiding doing so before.”

“Ah, the morning of my bad poetry.” He grinned at her.

“It was far from bad. I wrote it all down in my journal.”

“Did you? You never told me that before.”

She leaned in and brushed her lips across his. “There are a few things I’ve never told you,” she whispered. “I plan to confess shortly.”

John escorted his bride up the stairs at the Terrace on Denham Crescent to the beautifully appointed apartment. He scooped her into his arms, carried her inside, and kicked the door closed with one fell swoop.

###

As the guests filtered back inside, Sidney took Charlotte’s hand and led her to the balcony. “Shall we survey our domain?” he asked.

They found it unoccupied. A rarity. He stood behind her, his hands about her waist, hers atop, their fingers laced together. Below, Tom entertained anyone he did not know with tales of summer in Sanditon, _the finest seaside resort on the south coast_. He gesticulated with his glass of lemonade, eyes bright, grin flashing. Tom Parker would never stop promoting his magnum opus, his masterpiece.

Justine, now fifteen years of age, chatted with Cora Molyneux and Cordelia Pratt. Susan had been able to introduce Justine to the famed pianist, Lucy Anderson, who was not only the royal pianist for Queen Victoria, she had been the Queen’s teacher. Mrs Anderson had taken an interest in Justine, and that their daughter might play for the Queen herself was a possibility. Her parents were pleased when their passionate child appeared to greet the news with aplomb.

Adam and Crowe, who was clearly in his cups, were deep in conversation. “No good can come from that,” said Sidney, half serious, half amused. For the past six months, Adam had lived London, apprenticing with Michael. Somewhere along the way, he developed a friendship with Francis Crowe, perhaps from visiting Robert.

Sidney had queried Crowe about it, but he laughed in response. “No need to worry, old friend. Your boy has a good head on his shoulders. He will not be tainted by me. Far too sharp, that one.”

Georgiana and Darshini Conrad were delighting in their mutual “otherness,” both women having settled in England after growing up in a faraway land that was warm, vibrant, and exotic in comparison to Britain.

Then Sidney’s gaze fell on Aaron and Imogen as they giggled and chatted with Frank Molyneux and Gertrude Pratt. “And what do we do about them?” he asked Charlotte. She had not been as concerned as he about the closeness of the two. “He’s twelve. She will be soon.”

“He’ll be off to school in a year and a half.”

“And he will be back often.”

“Do you honestly think something indecent will happen between them?”

“I think they have an affection towards each other that is decidedly not familial. It’s only a matter of time before they come to realize it. And possibly act on it.”

She watched them for a moment. Aaron’s fingers grazed Imogen’s at her side, and she responded by squeezing them briefly. It was a gesture that was completely ordinary and yet not. She sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. I suppose we start by talking to them, separately.”

“The sooner the better, I think. We may need to separate them entirely.”

“Hire a governess, and have her live with Amelia and John. It’s her house as well.”

“I’d hate to do that to newlyweds.”

“It’s a large house, and better to have her there than the Square. Besides, I would think we have another year, especially if we talk to them about our concerns.”

“I know the mind of a thirteen year old boy. He’ll be just that in six months.”

She leaned her head back to look at him, a droll smile playing on her lips. “Were you just as incorrigible at thirteen as you are at fifty-one?”

He laughed and pressed her against him. “There’s a bit of a difference between those ages.”

“Oh? How so?” she teased.

Within seconds he had her in a dark corner of the anteroom, her back to the wall. “Well,” he said, sliding his hand down the emerald green velvet of her tight bodice, “at fifty-one, I have a very willing wife.” He caressed her lips with his, and began to hoist up the voluminous folds of her skirt, finally sliding one hand under while the other pressed into the small of her back. “But the greatest difference is skill.”

She gasped, succumbing for a moment, then came to her senses. “No Sidney, someone might find us. We’re the hosts.”

“I’m only answering your question.” He continued his ministrations.

“What do we say to our amorous twelve-year-olds if we are found?”

He sighed and paused. “Yes, I suppose the wrestling excuse won’t suffice.”

She giggled. “No, it will not. We would certainly be setting entirely the wrong example.”

He stroked her inner thigh longingly and then let her skirt drop back into place, giving her a chaste peck on the cheek. “I am claiming a lie down this afternoon, however. Being grandparents, we’ll surely be exhausted and need our rest.”

“Yes, I believe we will.”

They straightened their clothing. He gave her his arm. “Come Mrs Parker, let’s see to our guests.”

When they reentered the party and began to circulate, Crowe sidled up unsteadily to Sidney. “Where the devil have you been, Parker?” He slurred his words more than Sidney had seen in some time.

“Up on the balcony, observing our guests. I saw you serenading my son.”

“Ah, regaling him with tales of the old days.”

“When you were young and foolish?”

“Still foolish, but no longer young.”

“You’ve had enough to drink for today, my friend.” He took hold of Crowe’s shoulder, steering him towards the group where Clara stood. “It’s all winding down anyway, perhaps you should go sleep it off.”

“Yes, you’re right. My wife is not happy by the looks of her.”

After another hour, the musicians began to pack up. Carriages were called for, other guests left on foot. All the remaining food would be left out for the rest of the day and evening, for anyone in Sanditon who was in need.

When the Parker family arrived home, and the eldest two had removed their fine clothing and settled into bed for a lie down, they both promptly fell asleep. For a while, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want you to know my heart is as broken as yours at Susan's passing. It was not easy to write. 💔 I imagined her illness as an autoimmune disorder, Hypothyroidism, which had no treatment back then. While there was a beginning understanding of immunology (as in Smallpox inoculations), autoimmune disorders were completely unknown and would be for some time. Today, hypothyroidism is easily treated, but back then it was fatal to most either through heart conditions it caused or eventual coma from the body's systems slowing down.


	85. Time Marches On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, for all the support and love.

**The Twenty-Eighth of February, 1843**

_Sanditon_

Adam had intended to leave for the Copeland farm in late January. Then came the news of Amelia’s wedding, and by the time it was over, his mother’s birthday was a few short weeks away. So he stayed for a time. Being out of London the past two weeks and back by the sea did his soul good, and gave Jay and Lora some privacy. Adam adored his little nephew, and despite the internal battles he had about Jay, he dearly loved his brother. It wasn’t Jay’s fault he was so ebullient and likeable.

Living with them at the Square for six months had been awkward at times, even though Jay and Lora’s suite was on a different floor from his room. He stayed away frequently, and kept company with George and Anthony when they came back from Cambridge; Marcus and Robert when they were home from Winchester, and then more frequently with Uncle Crowe, himself. Crowe was so different from his own father, and when sober he was an adroit storyteller.

Stunning it was, how little Adam knew of his father’s past until Crowe told him. How he and Babington used to make a small fortune betting on Parker in illicit boxing matches. His father’s mastery at the gaming tables. How women schemed endlessly to snare him in marriage, while he all but ignored them. His unpredictable temper and surliness. And how the summer of 1819 was the last time that description held any validity, not after little Miss Heywood came to stay with Tom and Mary.

“The four stages of Sidney Parker,” said Crowe.

In the first, as a boy at Winchester, to Adam’s mind his father seemed more like Jay. Cheerful, impetuous, quick to joke and laugh, a bit mischievous. Then came his debauched phase at the same age Adam was currently, short but memorable according to Crowe, where Parker buried his broken heart in drink, gambling and brothels, which explained his father’s vehement warnings about prostitutes.

After that, Antigua, where Crowe admitted he had little contact but Babington did, followed by Parker’s return after eight years. His father talked occasionally of that Sidney Parker, _the hardened and cynical young man,_ but never with the detail Crowe provided. Crowe on occasion spoke of missing the old days and man-about-town Parker, but was just as quick to praise his friend: “The keenest nose for investing I’ve ever seen,” or “Never known a man with more determination – quit his smoking habit in the blink of an eye.”

The fourth stage was the man he was now, husband and father, the one his mother spoke of years before, who vowed to her he would become his best and truest self.

And there sat the very man across the breakfast table, engrossed in his newspaper, spectacles perched on the middle of his nose, one of the few men Adam had ever seen wear a wedding band. _Because I am proud to be married to your mother_ , was his father’s response when asked why. But Adam wondered if perhaps it was initially to keep women from pursuing him as Crowe described, an annoyance Adam himself had come to know.

His father read aloud to him from the shipping reports with a familiarity Adam secretly relished. After learning the inner workings of his father’s business, he felt as if he were a member in a private club, _Parker Imports and Exports_. Ah, yes, he knew that ship carried a load of oil and sardines from Portugal, and that one haberdashery goods bound for Jamaica. He could smell the fetid miasma from the river and hear the shouts of the dockworkers. And now he could respond with: “New boiler on the _Avalon_ ,” or “Insurance premiums were high for that shipment.” And his father’s face would take on the highly coveted expression that declared he was both pleased and proud. Unlike the dreaded one, _this_ look could make a son’s day.

How would it be to continue in his father’s business? Was there a place for him? Adam could not see it, not as long as his father continued to work. Perhaps by the time Aaron was grown, he and Jay could run the business together while their father and mother traveled, a notion they jested about on occasion. By then, Adam supposed he would be long gone. It was then he noticed Aaron and Imogen did not sit together as usual. Both were curiously quiet. Rascal wandered back and forth between the two, as if he were a go-between.

“Fancy a ride today after tutoring?” he asked Aaron.

Aaron brightened. “I would.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” said their mother. “You two boys should share some time together.” She exchanged a look with their father.

“How many to interview today?” he asked.

“Two,” she replied.

“I don’t understand why I should have a governess,” Imogen said brusquely.

“Because you are nearly twelve years old and need to continue your education. Amelia is gone now and can no longer be of assistance,” said Charlotte.

“And I cannot help much as I have to practice if I’m to play for the Queen some day,” reminded Justine.

Imogen chose to play with her toast. She was not yet of the age to put up her hair, still wearing it in a long plait down her back. Auburn wisps and curls edged her face, its porcelain skin now with freckles scattered across her upturned nose, those large green eyes inquisitive and thoughtful. One could see the young woman developing in her lengthening jaw and emerging cheekbones. Soon she would be a great beauty.

“All right, Auntie. I understand.”

After breakfast, Sidney took Adam to his study for more instruction in keeping account books and ledgers. Adam seemed a natural at it, better than Jay had been to start. Sidney held back asking him yet again if he would consider staying. The discussion had happened one time too many already. Shipping, horses and winemaking… what was the connection? He had previously asked the boy that very question.

“No connection,” Adam answered. “Except I suppose they are all subjects that interest me.”

Sidney appreciated the sentiment. Adam had loved horses long before he was breeched, standing wobbly in his little gown, wishing to pat Apollo and give him a carrot or two. And making wine, yes, the entire process held great fascination, he agreed. Adam’s first introduction to Étienne’s vineyard occurred at the tender age of three. Sidney could only imagine how mysterious it all must have seemed, sure to leave a mark. 

When they finished, Adam took his leave and passed through the Great room on his way out. His mother was speaking to a rather wan young woman, thin and primly attired. _Governess_ , he thought. His mother turned her attention to him. “Where shall Aaron find you?” she asked.

“I’ll sea bathe, then the stables,” he said with his usual half a smile. And there it was in the eyes of the young woman, the longing gaze. His mother years ago told him he would someday consider his looks an asset, but that day had yet to come. Rarely could he have a conversation with an unmarried young lady who did not become moonstruck and full of long sighs. Perhaps he would find himself a wedding band to wear on his travels, removing it only when the interest was mutual, which so far was not often. He bowed and continued on his way before introductions would be required.

Down at the Parker beach, the sea was far from hospitable, churning and unsettled. He chose instead to walk, alone with his thoughts. He was accustomed to intelligent women like his mother and sisters, those who could look a man straight in the eye and hold their own in any conversation. Even Justine, despite all her romantic ideas, could be brilliant in discussion and strong in demanding situations. Jay had been lucky. He'd found such a woman.

In Adam's experience, there seemed to be two main types of young ladies out in society: the giggly, fawning ones, or those who coolly planned the wedding after the first dance. While he had met a few young ladies who were attractive to look at, the silly batting of eyelashes and coy affectations left him cold. And if he paid the slightest interest in someone at a ball or event, he immediately felt he became her prize stud, paraded about to rouse the other ladies’ envy. 

Back up at the stables he greeted Prince. The pony was too small for him to ride comfortably now that he was taller than Jay and Papa. Aaron rode Prince, Imogen and occasionally Justine rode Titan, although he was twenty and slowing down considerably. It was Jack who had become Adam’s kindred spirit, two temperamental souls who learned to play by the rules, or at least pretend to. He had Jack tacked up and had started on Prince when Aaron arrived. They rode out along the coast road, down to the long Sanditon beach where they raced, galloping across on the hard sand at the water’s edge.

On the way back, at the talking spot, they settled in, and though the day was cool, the sun gave a bit of warmth. “Don’t you wish to work in the business?” asked Aaron.

“Perhaps someday, but there isn’t really a place for me now, not one where I can make a living.”

“And you want to leave anyway, do you not?”

“It isn’t that simple, Bit. What I wish to learn they do not teach at Oxford or Cambridge. And I fancy seeing some of the world while I’m young.”

Aaron nodded and stared out at the sea.

“Are you and Imogen arguing?”

“No.”

“What then?”

Aaron knit his brow, considering whether or not he should continue. “Papa and Mama say we are too close. It isn’t proper now that we’re growing.”

“They have a point.”

He looked at Adam, clearly annoyed. “Do they?”

“I think so, yes. You are not brother and sister. You will soon be feeling things about girls that… well, might lead to reckless behavior.”

“I love her.” He laid it out as if he had said, _the sun shines_.

Adam rubbed the edge of his index finger across his upper lip, measuring his words. “Of course you do. We all do. But you are twelve. She is eleven.”

“So.”

“ _So?_ You need to consider the future and her reputation. She already has a strike against her being born out of wedlock. This is their concern. And trust me, in a year or two it will be difficult not to do what your body wants to. It cannot happen, Bit. Not until you are much, much older.”

“They say they will send her away.”

“And well they should if you do not conduct yourself with propriety, and learn to restrain your feelings.”

Aaron scowled. Of the five of them, he most resembled the Heywoods, Uncle John specifically with a similar long face and nose. There were bits of Papa in there, but by and large, Aaron was more like the Heywood men than the Parkers.

On a whim, Adam said, “Come to Cumberland with me. I’m certain Auntie Alison will not mind, and Uncle Charles always welcomes extra hands at the farm.”

“What about my studies.”

“Pfft,” Adam waved his hand dismissively. “I can tutor you. I know exactly what your lessons will be the first year at Winchester. I can prepare you.”

“I’ll be away from Imogen for a long time.”

“And a good thing, too. If they send her away, you will rarely see her. Besides, she’ll have Rascal to keep her company, and Justine.”

“I will not be here for her birthday or mine.”

“There will be many birthdays in the future. The time will pass swiftly.”

Aaron studied his brother. “Have you kissed a girl?”

Adam chuckled. “Gentlemen do not kiss and tell.”

“I’m your brother. You can tell me.”

He gave Aaron a sidelong look, eyes narrowed. “You’d better not be thinking of kissing Imogen. I’ll throttle you if Papa doesn’t.”

Aaron shook his head. “She would not let me anyway.”

“At least she has a sensible head on her shoulders.”

“But have you?”

“Yes, Bit, I have kissed a girl. Satisfied?”

“Only one?”

He gave his brother a withering look. “This discussion is over. Come on. Let’s get back.”

THREE MONTHS LATER.

**The Seventh of June, 1843**

_Sanditon_

Charlotte looked away from Alison’s letter for a moment, musing over the contents, then read certain passages again.

_I cannot begin to describe the stir he has created among our local young ladies, all vying to catch his eye at every ball and gathering. He appears to float above all the commotion, gentlemanly and polite, but never committing himself beyond that enigmatic smile of his. Goodness, Charlotte, I believe it will take a very special lady to win that young man’s heart._

_Charles is quite pleased with both boys and their work. And Alfie is delighted having his cousins here, as he always feels outnumbered being the only boy. Charles is most impressed with Adam’s affinity with the horses and says he has a real talent for easing them into learning the ways of the saddle. Aaron has taken a keen interest in our local horse doctor, Mr Grassley, full of questions about veterinary medicine and training. He even asked to accompany him on some of his rounds, which Mr Grassley heartily agreed to, telling Charles the boy had quite an aptitude for the work._

She set the letter down on the table and let her eyes feast on the beauty of her garden. The roses were midway into the first big bloom of the season, and the songbirds still filled the air with their sweet melodies, while the acrobatic notes of Chopin’s _Torrent_ Étude tumbled from Justine’s fingers as she practiced inside. How remarkable about Aaron. He had never shown an interest when the horse doctor came to visit here. Perhaps he wasn’t in the vicinity to notice, yet he seemed to spend a great deal of time in the stable and had always loved animals in all forms. When Rascal killed the chickens, the poor boy was torn in two directions, his love of the dog and his sadness over the dead hens.

Adam’s suggestion for Aaron to accompany him had been pure genius. Imogen had time to settle in with her governess, Miss Thornton, and Aaron had time to broaden his horizons. Sidney would be pleased with the news when he returned from Trafalgar House, having been summoned to once again mitigate some squabble between Tom, Henry and Frederick. It had been ages since Mary had come to tea, and Charlotte sent an invitation to her with Sidney.

And what of Adam? Who _would_ win his heart? He was in no hurry, that she knew for certain. Rascal lay at her feet. He stood and stretched with his two front legs out, tail wagging, then shifted to loosen up his rear legs before sitting beside her with his chin resting on her leg, begging for a scratch. She obliged and he closed his eyes in contentment. Miss Thornton felt the dog distracted Imogen, and she was correct. All the candidates she interviewed for governess were qualified, but Miss Thornton, large boned and ruddy faced, seemed to have the straightforward sensibility Imogen needed.

FOUR MONTHS LATER.

**The Third of November, 1843**

_London_

Amelia shifted back in her chair and stroked her belly as the babe inside thumped against it. Still four months to go. How on earth did her mother travel the length of France in this condition? But never mind that. George Bell & Sons awaited her second book with Jenny, _Growing Up by the Sea,_ after the success of their first, _A Child’s Visit to France._ She was behind schedule, irritated with herself for her lack of concentration. Her mother assured her it was normal, she was after all growing another person inside her, but Amelia had always prided herself on mental acuity and felt it was slipping away at times.

John worked now with Mr Brunel on the Bristol & Exeter Railway project, the hours were long, often requiring travel that took him away for a week or more. Despite her independent streak, she missed him terribly when he left, especially at dinner and worse, alone in bed without his arms around her, without his broad, strong back as a bulwark against the night.

Now that Aaron and Adam had returned from up north, Mama and Papa contemplated sending Imogen and her governess to live with them in London. At first John was slightly miffed, as they’d not yet been married a year, but when she told him how difficult his absences were for her, and with the child on the way, he came to welcome the idea. It seemed the decision rested on Imogen and Aaron’s conduct.

**The Fourth of November, 1843**

_Sanditon_

Adam had requested they not go overboard with gifts for him. Still, it was his nineteenth birthday, and he would be leaving in the new year for a length of time, if not forever. They selected carefully a few small but fine gifts. A new pen knife. Gold dress buttons. And a pocket compass, a well-crafted instrument in a mahogany case. Sidney had the wooden lid engraved with Adam’s name and the year. And on the inside of the lid, the sentiment:

_May you always find your way home._

**The Sixth of November, 1843**

_Sanditon_

An express arrived that afternoon from Willingden. Sidney turned it over in his hands and knew instinctively what the message said. He found Charlotte in their private sitting room, curled up before the fire in her favorite chair, reading. He dropped down to his knees next to her and put the letter in her hands. She turned it over and over, then looked at him, fear and sadness in her eyes, handing it back. “You open it.”

Her beloved father, John Heywood, had passed peacefully in his sleep at the age of nine and sixty.


	86. More Endings and Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I say I am quite tickled Adam has such a following. Never fear, his story is central to the main one and will develop in the coming chapters. 😍
> 
> Regarding the "monthly nurse," middle and upper class families back then often hired a "high class" of midwife to perform prenatal care, then moving in with the family a few weeks before the delivery and staying a few weeks after.

**The Twenty-Second of December, 1843**

_London_

John Heywood was laid to rest in the Willingden Parish Churchyard, a double headstone inscribed with both his and his wife Sarah’s name, the latter needing only the date to be added when the time came. Charlotte’s mother insisted it be done so. And as it had since Tudor times, the estate passed fully to the first born son, John Heywood II.

For the third year in a row, the Parkers would celebrate Christmas in London at the Square. The Sanditon festivities were successful without them, and every year the family matters had been far more pressing, first with Susan’s illness, then Samuel’s imminent birth, and now mourning the Heywood family patriarch, all of which compelled the need to gather in London. Jay and Amelia lived there now, as did Maggie and Elizabeth. All the Tom Parkers would join them after Boxing Day, including Jenny.

Late afternoon the Parker carriages arrived, and after the hustle and bustle of servants with luggage and freshening from travel, Lora called for tea. Amelia and John had come by, and little Samuel awoken from his nap. They were a family of eleven now, soon to be twelve in early March when Baby Conrad arrived.

Their conversation lingered on pleasant subjects, memories of past times and discussion of the future. Samuel squealed in delight, crawling to Adam and pulling himself up to stand. Adam, who doted on the boy, bent over and took the two little hands in his, walking Samuel about on his sturdy legs, finally over to his Grandpapa. Sidney scooped the boy onto his lap, tickling and kissing him until the giggles made him hiccup.

“All right, all right, I think we’ve had enough now,” he said, bouncing Samuel gently on his knee until the hiccups subsided.

Charlotte’s concerns settled on Amelia, who was not taking well to her condition, feeling unwieldy and restrained by it.

“How did you travel so far with Justine, Mama? The very thought makes my back and hips ache.”

Charlotte chuckled. “I wasn’t as far along as you are now. And she was my fourth. This is all new to you, the ones following will be much easier.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “I don’t even want to think of the ones to follow.”

It was true, Charlotte thought to herself, Amelia was quite large for the seventh month. She wondered for a moment if Amelia carried twins.

“Perhaps you have not one, but two,” Charlotte said in a quiet voice.

Amelia’s eyes grew wide. “Do you think…?” Her hands went instinctively to her belly, “Twins?”

“The monthly nurse might be able to hear two hearts by now. When does she visit?”

“Wednesday after next.”

“Tomorrow I will listen with an unaided ear. Perhaps I can tell.”

After an early dinner, John escorted his weary Amelia back to Grosvenor Square, and the travelers retired early.

The light from the oil lamp on the bedside table enveloped them in a soft glow as they lay on their backs.

“We don’t know anyone who has twins, do we?” asked Sidney.

“Not any I can think of. My mother helped one of our tenants deliver twins. I was perhaps seventeen. She told me some about it. And no doubt Amelia’s midwife has experience, she’s one of the best in London. There will also be a doctor present at the birth.”

He turned his head to look at her, concern playing heavily on his face. “But she is in more danger with twins, is she not?”

Charlotte shifted to her side, one arm crooked under her head, the other on Sidney’s chest. “By the nature of it, yes. Twice the risk in a way. She may deliver early. Our tenant did, I remember that was why Mama went to help. The midwife was assisting another mother.” She rubbed in a circle over his heart. “But we mustn’t worry. We don’t yet know, and if so, we’ll simply have two to love instead of one. A bonus.”

“It’s a different feeling with a grandchild, don’t you think? I can love and tickle and play with Samuel, then hand him back to Jay. Here you are, son, he’s yours.” He chuckled. “Do you think I’m terrible to say that?”

She grinned at him. “No, I feel the same. I suppose if Jay and Lora were not good at the task, we would not.”

“But they are.”

“And so will Amelia and John be.”

He took her into his arms and rolled her on top of him. She tucked her knees in against his waist, straddling his hips.

“Does being a grandparent make you amorous, Mr Parker?”

His lips parted in a sensuous, lazy smile. “You make me amorous.” His hands followed the curve of her back and down to the round cheeks of her behind.

“Not always.” She ran her finger across his chin.

“Always. Even the times I’ve been annoyed with you, I still wanted you.”

“When was the last time you were annoyed with me? I can’t remember.”

“Neither can I.” He pulled her down to kiss him.

###

_The bandana underneath his hat was soaked with sweat. The hills in the distance still wore patches of green, but the trail was dry and dusty as his horse trotted along, the sun high overhead, not a cloud in the sky. A shot rang out and he started, jerking his head to locate the source. Behind him, far enough away that he could not see particulars, a golden palomino stood with a sylphlike rider astride. He couldn’t make out if it was a boy or a woman, but it was clear the rifle’s breech was open and the weapon quickly reloaded. He took the reins in one hand and held both hands up. The rider nudged the palomino forward, towards him, rifle aimed._

Adam opened his eyes to darkness. What a strange dream. And so real. He still felt the sweat on his brow, the dust in his nose and on his skin. Who was the rider? He closed his eyes and tried to remember. He could see the palomino, its golden coat shimmering in the sun, the white mane and tail, four white socks. But the rider was a mystery. He could not conjure up details no matter how hard he tried. Only a feeling. _I know this person._

**The Fourth of January, 1844**

_London_

Christmas had come and gone, along with all the festivities including the Babington’s annual winter ball. The monthly nurse had yesterday confirmed Charlotte’s findings that Amelia carried twins, and because the delivery could come early, the midwife would move in to the household the third week of February. Samuel’s first birthday was on Saturday the sixth, and the following Monday, Lucy Anderson had arranged for Justine to perform privately for Queen Victoria. 

Jenny had taken up residence at Grosvenor Square, as she and Amelia worked feverishly to finish their book in time for the publisher’s deadline, the upcoming twin births, and Jenny’s departure on the twenty-third. Susan had included Jenny in her bequeathments, a sum of three thousand pounds, enabling Jenny, now a graduate of the Académie Royale, to rent a separate artist’s studio and a superior apartment in which to live in Paris.

Adam decided he would leave with Jenny and spend a few weeks in Paris with his cousin before continuing down to the Var in time for the early spring pruning of the vineyard. That way he would be present for Amelia’s twenty-first birthday and Justine’s sixteenth. He would not, however, be present for his mother’s forty-seventh, a fact that weighed heavily on him.

While out on an errand, he passed the Hall & Nightingale Portrait Studio, one of the burgeoning purveyors of the new art of photography. On a whim, he sat for a portrait, posed in a chair with one leg crossed over the other, his elbow resting on a small table, his eyes looking directly into the camera, most informal, the way he wished to be remembered. The process required him to sit very still for several minutes, but he was pleased with the result, an exact likeness, right down to his half a smile, which was no small feat to hold for such an extended time. He would gift the daguerreotype to his mother when he left, as an early birthday gift and apology for leaving. He knew he would break her heart, but he also knew he could not stay.

**The Sixth of January, 1844**

_London_

Samuel Parker did not quite know what to make of his first birthday, but he delighted in the attention and the new toys and the general merrymaking. His emerging personality was much as his father’s had been at that age, curious, plucky, more smiles than frowns. A robust little fellow with large brown eyes and a head of chestnut curls, he was destined to be tall, as both his parents were, and certainly as handsome.

**The Eighth of January, 1844**

_London_

Justine rode on a cloud of giddiness that evening at dinner, and well deserved it was.

“But she is quite small in stature, is she not, Mama?”

“She is, but very regal as befitting a queen.”

“And the bluest eyes. The little Princess as well.”

“Such a tremendous honor, Justine. Are you satisfied with your performance?” asked her father.

“Honestly, Papa, I barely remember. I was so carried away by the thought of playing for her. But Mrs Anderson said I did exceptionally well.”

“You did, my dear girl,” said her mother. “I am so very proud of you! And we owe it all to Susan, who introduced you to Mrs Anderson.”

“Yes, Her Majesty spoke of Lady Susan. And she was most encouraging, as was Prince Albert, even though he heard only one piece.”

“Well, dear sister, you have quite a feather to put in your hat,” said Adam. “You will write to me and keep me abreast of your future successes I trust.”

“Oh Adam, why must you leave?” said Imogen.

Adam tsk-tsked. “This is Justine’s day, not mine. You didn’t make such a fuss when Aaron and I went to the Copeland farm for six months.”

“But we knew you would come back,” said Amelia, who joined them for dinner at the Square, as John had left for Exeter that morning.

“I’ll be with Uncle Arthur and the rest. It isn’t as if I’m heading for the moon.”

“Just never forget where you came from,” Jay said, looking surprisingly forlorn.

Adam offered his outstretched hand to his brother, who clasped it wholeheartedly. “I assure you I will not.”

**The Twenty-Third of January, 1844**

_Sanditon_

He’d said his goodbyes to everyone in London: Jay, Lora and Samuel; Amelia and John; the Crowes, Molyneuxs, and Babingtons. He even met up with Isaac Stringer, home on exeat during his last year at Winchester, to exchange addresses and give his best.

Once home in Sanditon he packed two trunks, putting everything else in storage so the family could make use of his room. He walked the beach, rode Jack, wrote letters to his aunts, uncles and cousins, visited Trafalgar House. In everything he did, he consciously memorized the world he grew up in; the world he loved and the people who populated it. He savored every moment slowly and thoroughly, as if fixing it on a daguerreotype in his memory, frozen forever in time.

He’d made certain all his traveling papers were in order, and while he had money saved from apprenticing, it would not be enough. He had asked his father to release a portion of Susan’s inheritance, and to his initial shock, his father refused.

“I wish for you to keep Susan’s gift intact for now. It’s growing well where it is. I placed an amount equal to the cost of three years at Oxford in an account for you to draw against. If you require more, you need simply to ask.” He handed Adam an envelope containing all the papers from the British bank he would need to open lines of credit in France.

“You did not need to do so.”

“This is your chosen education, and you deserve to have it funded as Jay did his.”

“He had only two years.”

His father shrugged. “We planned for three. If ever he chooses to finish his education, I will cover the cost.”

“Very well, Papa. Thank you.”

Father and son remained motionless for a moment or two, neither knowing how to express the sentiment inside them. As if by agreement, they embraced, full and heartfelt. Sidney pulled away to see his son’s face, putting one hand on Adam’s shoulder. It was as if he looked into a mirror reflecting both the past and the future. A sad sigh left him involuntarily, and he offset it with a smile.

“I think perhaps Jay said it best. Never forget where you came from, and who you are. And never, ever forget there are many here, most especially your mother and me, who love you always, with all our hearts.”

Adam felt a lump in his throat and saw the glistening in his father’s eyes, knowing full well his were the same. “I assure you, Papa, I will never forget, and I will be back. And even though I do not often show it, my love is in equal measure.”

They embraced again. This time with manly back slaps.

“I have something to give Mama, to you as well. Will you come with me?”

After leaving the study, he passed by his room on the way to his parents’ private sitting room and picked up the photograph, now in a gilt frame, wrapped in blue paper. Charlotte looked up from her writing desk to see Adam with Sidney behind him. Every emotion within her played across her face. On the surface, he was simply leaving for France, where they had been thrice before as a family, and he would live with family and friends once there. But in the depth of her soul, she knew he was leaving forever, to return for a visit now and then, but never again to live in the land of his birth. Every fiber of her being was certain.

She rose from her chair. “Is it time?” she asked.

Adam took a few halting steps to her. “Yes, Mama, it is. But I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

He handed the package to her. Her expression held so much love it nearly crushed him. “Open it,” he said.

She tore off the wrapping and gasped. “A photograph. Oh my! It’s you! Look Sidney.”

He came and admired the gift, remarking on this fantastic new advance. Photographs! They would need to have some taken and send them down to him. But this was all stalling, for Adam had to leave. Jenny was waiting at Trafalgar House, and they needed to be in Southampton tomorrow to catch the steamer to Le Havre.

She took his face in her hands, studying it, committing to memory until the tears welled up and blurred her vision. He held her and whispered softly, “Don’t cry Mama. I will be fine. And I will be back. And I will write. Promise you will write me?”

“Of course,” she said, stroking his cheek. “I know you will be fine, Adam, wherever you go. But know, no matter what, you are _loved_.”

Outside in the drive, he said a final goodbye to Justine, holding her tight, telling her how proud he was of her. He lifted Imogen up off her feet, making her laugh, instructing her to listen to her governess and grow to be the lovely young woman he knew she would be. Aaron’s eyes were brimming with tears. Adam wrapped his arms around his brother’s shoulders and turned their backs to the others.

“You must remember everything I’ve told you, Bit. Do not compromise her. Be proper and respectable. I know you will. And write to me. Promise.”

“I promise. I’ll miss you so.”

“Yes, and I you. But I will be back. Rest assured.”

With a scratch for Rascal, and one more embrace for his mother and father, he stepped into the carriage and waved out the window as it rolled up the drive, taking the second son on the first leg of his journey to find himself.

“I’m going for a ride,” said the third son, heading down to the stables, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“Should you go with him?” Charlotte asked Sidney.

He slipped his arm about her waist, pulling her close. “No, he needs time to himself.”

“Come along, Imogen,” said Justine. “Let us see what Miss Thornton has in mind for today.”

When the two girls were gone, Charlotte turned into him, draping her arms about his neck. “I know it is irrational. He’s left many times, for school, to London, up to Alison’s. And it’s only France. We see Jenny at least once a year. Still, I cannot shake the feeling…”

“Yes, mine is the same. But we cannot dwell on it, not with twin grandbabies on the way, an accomplished pianist in our midst. Imogen is taking well to her governess. And I will devote more time to Aaron, now that both his brothers are gone, you have my word. Arthur was twelve when I left for Antigua. Strange, but the situation is so similar. Tom was engaged to Mary. I was gone. Arthur was left to fend for himself.”

“Your father paid him no attention? None at all?”

“Very little. Father was a severe man, as I’ve told you. Sometimes I wonder how my mother tolerated him.”

“Perhaps he satisfied her in ways you were not privy to,” she said with an amused look.

He popped out a laugh. “Ha! Now that is a thought I do not care to have.”

“Well, look at his son.”

“Are you saying you only tolerate me because I please you in bed?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“I’m saying nothing of the kind. I far more than _tolerate_ you.” She smirked a little. “But the bed definitely helps…”

He chuckled and pressed his forehead to hers. “Our marriage is nothing like the one my parents had. Yes, they did balance each other, her softness and sensitivity with his hardness and indifference. But we two are _partners_ , in every sense of the word, are we not? Lovers, companions, allies…”

_“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.”_

“Aristotle.”

“Of course you’d know that.” She caressed his lips softly with hers.

“Because we are the two halves of the same soul.”

“Thank goodness we found each other.”

“I think we always find each other.”

“Every time we rewrite our history?”

“Until we reach the end, I suppose. The last time our soul comes back, searching for its other half to make one.”

“Adam does so now.”

“Yes, but it will not be easy for him as it was for Jay and Amelia. He has many trials to face.”

“Some of his own making I fear.”

“I cannot fault him. I did the same.”

“If you had not, you wouldn’t have found me.”

“My point entirely.”

She sighed and pulled back to look at him fully. “Where shall we put his photograph?”

“In a place where we all can see it. Shall we go inside and decide.”

He released her and offered his arm. She looped hers through it, and he covered her hand with his as they headed for the house and its old and heavy carved front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucy Anderson was a real person, an accomplished concert pianist who was also piano teacher to then Princess Victoria and later to her daughters. Victoria and Albert were great patrons of the arts, and I have read they often enjoyed "discovering" new talent.


	87. At Home and Abroad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on, whenever you see dialogue in italics, it denotes a language other than English being spoken, either French or Spanish in this chapter.

TWENTY MONTHS LATER.

**The Twenty-fifth of September, 1845**

_London_

“Gammy, Gammy!” Little Susan pointed proudly to her neatly stacked blocks.

Sarah, not to be outdone, added yet another block to the top. “See?”

Charlotte smiled at the twins, identical in almost every way. “How clever you two are!”

“No doubt I will receive twofold what I gave,” said Amelia, setting her teacup down. Indeed, Susan and Sarah had the very same precociousness their mother possessed at that age.

“To be expected given the intelligence of their parents,” said Charlotte, now a grandmother of four, a fifth on the way. “You may have been challenging at times, but never difficult. Does John hope for a boy?”

“What we both hope for only is only _one_ ,” Amelia said with a tired chuckle. “At least he is working close to home now.”

“The first years of our marriage, when your father always had to leave for London… I did not enjoy those days. I completely understand.”

“But Papa worked from home the rest of the time. John spends so many hours at the office, and then he is worn out at the end of the day. He doesn’t need to work so hard. We have money, but he wants to make a name for himself.”

“As do you with your books.”

“But I write my books at home.”

“He’s Mr Brunel’s right hand man. I imagine the demands are many.”

“Too many for my taste,” she said with a trace of a scowl.

Charlotte paused for a moment, treading lightly. “But you are _happy_ , Amelia, are you not?”

She sighed. “Yes, when all is said and done, I am. I love John and he loves me and the girls. We have a good life. I simply fear his work is… I don’t know…”

“His other wife?”

Amelia snorted. “In a sense, yes. He’s just as devoted to it.”

“But when he is here, is he attentive? Does he provide for your needs?”

“Yes, of course, he hasn’t changed in that way. It’s the day to day conversation, the small talk and listening that bears the brunt. He is so often preoccupied, wading through some engineering quagmire in his head. Apt description since they’re designing sewers now. It is noble work, improving the lives of so many, but it takes him away from his family, physically and mentally.”

“Perhaps you need to have a discussion with him. Tell him how you feel. Especially now with a third child on the way. You do not want to wait until you’re in the middle of the stream.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning the longer you allow this to continue, the more difficult it will be. Heading back will require the same effort as going forward. Mary waited too long with Tom. And of course, John does not have an illness as Tom did, but still, Mary was long unhappy with his devotion to the Sanditon project, but by the time she finally spoke up, it was far too late in many ways.”

“How do you and Papa stay so happy?”

Charlotte took a sip of tea and set her cup back on the saucer. “Oh, I cannot say exactly. We keep no secrets for one thing, which is why I say you must talk to John. We make decisions together. We have not lost our enjoyment of each other. And your father… he has a way, a prescience of sorts. He knew very early on each time I was with one of you children, and who would be a girl or a boy. Occasionally he has a dream that foretells the future.”

“Really?” Amelia raised her eyebrows in surprise. 

“Yes, really.”

“But how does that make your marriage happy?”

“I suppose you could say it is a sensitivity he has. He discerns what is important to me and our family, and he acts on it.”

“You've never spoken of this before."

"I suppose the older I am, the freer my tongue becomes." She gave her daughter a knowing smile.

Amelia continued to be intrigued. "Has he always been so?”

“I think in his younger days, yes. But after years of witnessing the unspeakable in Antigua, he cast his sensitivity aside entirely and became the cold, detached man I first met. It was never his true self, but a cover to hide his emotions.”

“I suppose that prescience is why he is so good at investing.”

She chuckled. “Among other things.”

“And what do I tell John if I have regrets?”

Charlotte furrowed her brow. “Do you?”

Amelia sighed and looked down at her hands in her lap. “Sometimes, I think perhaps I married too young. I had always wanted to travel and see the world. It would have been possible with Susan’s gift.” Upon hearing her name, little Susan looked up from the blanket on the floor where she played with her sister, a grin flashing across her face.

“Mama!” she said, standing and toddling to her mother. Sarah immediately followed.

Amelia brought them both into her lap, kissing them and brushing the dark hair from their foreheads. “But then I realize these two might not be, and… It was just that neither of us wanted to wait longer to marry. I suppose I thought we could travel together.”

“You will someday; I am certain of it.”

“Adam warned me that I would not once children came along. I reminded him our family traveled. But Papa was able to leave his work. John cannot. Not yet, anyway.”

“Traveling with children is no simple task. You can trust me on that.”

“Yes, of course. Forgive me, Mama, I fear I am lonely sometimes. And bored. My thinking is muddled these days.”

“You have a good reason. You do see other ladies, do you not? At least Phoebe, Lora, Sophie, even Georgiana?”

“Oh yes, Sophie is gone now though, as you know, on her honeymoon.”

“Justine could come in, keep you company. I think she would enjoy it. Imogen is set against being in London, and she is doing well with her governess, especially with Aaron at Winchester. She isn’t so distracted.”

“If Justine would like to come, I certainly would not mind her company.”

“All right, then, I’ll discuss with your father and Justine this evening if he isn’t too weary from today at the bottling plant.”

“Is not Jay with him?”

“He is. And Michael. Did I tell you Adam wrote a message on one of the wine casks, scratched into the metal hoop. Your father was so touched.”

“What did it say?”

“Hello from your son, and his initials.”

“I miss him.”

“Yes, we all do.”

###

_Boudreau Vineyards, Near Ramatuelle, France_

At that very moment, Adam Parker carried a full basket of grapes over to the barrels on a donkey cart. This section of the vineyard lagged behind in harvesting, so he’d stopped to lend a hand. A few minutes later, he was back on his horse, heading for the cellar building to assist Guillaume and Étienne with the processing. He smiled to himself, thinking by now his father must have seen his greetings on the cask. He wrote regular letters, of course, but he’d never quite outgrown his mischievous side, his last minute scratchings into the metal hoop like the proverbial message in a bottle. He knew his father would chuckle at the sight.

When this year’s wine was aging in its casks, he planned to take a journey to Spain. He’d met two brothers that summer in a café in Saint-Tropez, Mateo and Diego Castellano, sons of a wealthy Toledo merchant. Adam’s Spanish was not terribly proficient, although he did speak a bit of Catalan learned from some of the itinerant workers at the vineyard, and four years of studying Latin at Winchester certainly helped. And as the two brothers spoke passable French, they managed to communicate well enough and developed a friendship over the few weeks the brothers stayed in the Var region.

The brothers Castellano said they were interested in purchasing five hundred hectares of arable land north of Barcelona, to start a vineyard. The Alella region had been producing wine since the time of the Romans, and the two brothers, who knew next to nothing about the process, thought Adam Parker might make a very good partner. But Adam was his father’s son, and knew better than to commit to any scheme without a thorough inquiry. The winter months would be a fine time to explore the possibility.

He stood with a small group of workers at a sorting table, combing through the grape bunches, when a hand surreptitiously brushed his backside.

_“Bonjour, Adam.”_

_“Bonjour, Madeleine.”_

She sidled up alongside him and began sorting grapes, a buxom and pretty young woman. Nevertheless, he considered her the first mistake he made after arriving in France, and one he was not proud of. He enjoyed the few times he had bed her; she was certainly no virgin, and each time she gave her assurance there were no strings attached. But he feared he’d end up fathering a child, and being who he was, he would of course marry her, a prospect he did not wish for. He ended the liaison, much to her chagrin, and even though she’d taken up with other men since, she continued to pine after him. As long as she worked for the Boudreau family, he would continue to cross paths with her, so he’d taken to avoiding her and her attentions, as he did now, nodding politely and leaving to help Guillaume at the presses.

ONE MONTH LATER.

**The Twenty-First of October, 1845**

_Barcelona, Spain_

After he disembarked the steamer and collected his luggage from customs, Adam rode in a cab through the streets of Barcelona, struggling to reconcile what he now saw with his memory from nine years of age. The heavy industrialization of the area had led to a rapid rise in the population. The city was dreadfully overcrowded, far worse than Paris or London, and because of the massive city walls, designed and built centuries ago to keep out invaders, expansion of the physical city itself was problematic, creating the current conditions. The cab made its way through the filthy streets teeming with all manner of people, eventually reaching the Fonda Peninsularies, where he would find both the Castellano brothers and a room.

 _“Adán!”_ said Diego, clapping Adam on the back. _“How are you, my friend?”_

 _“Thirsty and hungry,”_ he said. _“What do we have planned for tonight?”_

_“Mateo is out on an errand. When he returns, we shall have a night on the town.”_

Mateo soon arrived with a gift for Adam, a small Castilian to English dictionary. _“It will be helpful,”_ he said.

 _“My Catalan works well. It is Catalonia after all,”_ Adam replied in French.

 _“You must speak Castellano, like our name, the true language, Castilian in your native tongue,”_ said Mateo. _“Especially if we travel inland.”_

Adam simply nodded, having no wish to debate Spanish politics or the history of the Kingdoms of Aragon and Castile with two men from Toledo.

The two brothers were the epitome of a Spaniard, dashing and gallant, dark hair and eyes, long face and nose, noble bearing. They teased Adam that he rather fit the mold, but he knew better. He was an Englishman, nothing would change that.

They chose to dine at a nearby restaurant rather than the Fonda, consuming a large cazuela of fideuà, a local dish full of shrimp, cod, squid, and mussels cooked with fine noodles, saffron and tomato, accompanied by an agreeable Catalonian wine. The inside of the restaurant resembled a cave, with curved ceilings of rough whitewashed plaster, copper pitchers and cooking vessels hung above at dizzying angles, decorative tiles with Moorish designs on the floors and walls. The center section of the room was open, the tables lining the periphery. This was for the entertainment, and tonight, a guitarist and a singer serenaded diners with traditional songs, occasionally joined by the diners themselves.

Tomorrow they would travel up to Alella to see the land that so interested the two brothers. They had no desire to remain in Barcelona.

TWO WEEKS LATER.

**The Third of November, 1845**

_Andalucía Region, Spain_

The hilly vineyard land in Alella had not been practical in Adam's opinion. He knew nothing about terracing grape vines. In fact, he had much to learn before he knew even half of what was necessary to own and run a vineyard. Immediately he told the brothers he was not interested.

But in the end it mattered not, as Diego and Mateo had no particular need or desire to be vineyard owners. They were rich, idle young men who enjoyed speculating about the future as opposed to acting on it. But Adam had a certain liking for them; they were good company most of the time, so the three of them headed down the coast in the Castellano carriage as more of a lark than anything else. No better way to learn about a country than with a native or two, Adam thought.

Something about Andalucía captured Adam’s attention more than any other part of Spain he had seen thus far. After the trio left Cartagena, a spectacular city in its own right, traveling through the Sierra de la Muela and into the southernmost region of Spain, Andalucía felt eerily familiar, though he knew not why.

Diego and Mateo entertained him with stories of bandoleros, the rebels and thieves notorious to the area, who lived in caves when not raiding the mail and gold coaches on their way from the coast to Madrid. The most famous was El Tempranillo, who was gallant towards the ladies and gentlemen he robbed and gave much of his spoils to the peasants, a Spanish Robin Hood, executed over a decade ago and now a legend. But not to worry, the brothers said. The bandits were primarily in the Serrania de Ronda, the Sierra Morena and the La Alpujarra, far away from where the trio traveled.

In many places, the roads weren’t much more than glorified mule trails and the going slow. They occasionally saw vaqueros on horseback, herding their cattle through the arid plains, dressed in the traditional traje corto, a short, colorful jacket worn with high-waisted pants covered by riveted leather chaps, white shirt, colored sash about the waist, and a wide brimmed sombrero de alanche. The sight of them intrigued Adam, especially the occasional horse of palomino coloring. He’d had the same dream numerous times now, always unable to make out the person with the rifle, although he was convinced it was a woman despite that she rode astride.

They arrived in Málaga, taking rooms at the Fonda Alhambra before spending the evening eating and drinking. The climate was exquisitely warm and dry, the light off the Mediterranean the same in winter as it was in the Var during the summer. After all, Morocco was only a short boat ride away, and the evidence of centuries of Moorish occupation was everywhere. At some point in the evening, the Castellano brothers decided to visit a brothel, which Adam declined. They teased him as they’d done in the past, but he was steadfast in his principles, knowing full well many of the young women were held against their will, even sold into the life. And he had no wish to contract an incurable disease.

He walked the streets for a while, ending up at a café where he took a small, out of the way table and ordered a glass of Palo de Mallorca liqueur. The usual entertainment went on, guitar and singer, and then a man and woman took the center, he in a fine embroidered gilet, ruffled white shirt, skin tight trousers, and high heeled boots. She looked serpentine in a fitted red dress, until mid-thigh, where a massive flounce of wide ruffles continued to the bottom of the skirt, a short, fringed, lace shawl about her shoulders, and shoes with the same thick, high heels.

They danced individually at first, ribs thrust out, staccato stamps of their shoes juxtaposing the clapping, sometimes lifting a leg, or kicking the flounce away. Then they began to dance together, arms raised overhead, hands undulating as they turned around, eyeing each other like cats, chin lowered, gaze haughty, stamping and clapping. The guitarist’s fingers raced across the strings as the singer clapped intricate rhythms, her song more a wail than anything else, with piercing cries at times. Adam sat riveted, held captive in his seat by the passion of the dance and the music.

**The Fourth of November, 1845**

_Málaga, Spain_

The last place Adam expected to awaken on his twenty-first birthday was in the bed of a wealthy widow in Málaga. But that indeed was his precise location, and she was still asleep it seemed. He stared at the ceiling, gathering his thoughts in the first light of day.

So enthralled was he in the dancers last night, he had not noticed when the Señora joined him at his table. Suddenly there she was, telling him about Flamenco, an art form of the Gypsies, frowned upon by the Spanish elite, but oh, how she loved it, as he seemed to, she observed. And so they struck up a conversation that eventually led to here, her bed. She wasn’t his first widow. Most had no wish to remarry and lose their money and independence, a situation that worked quite well for him. They were free to coax handsome young men into scratching their itches, and usually they were attractive and pleasant company, as this woman was.

He rose quietly, located the washbasin and his clothes hastily shed the night before, splashed his face and neck, dressed, then sat beside her on the bed. He stroked her hair until she awoke.

She smiled. _“Gracias for bringing the flamenco to my bed.”_

He kissed her hand and bid adios, bowing at the door before departing. He let himself out, as few of the Señora’s servants were about yet. The streets were all but deserted as he walked back to the Fonda Alhambra.

It had been nearly two years since he’d been in England or seen his family. He had three nieces he’d never met. Samuel was the same age he had been when they first traveled to France. They were all well, at least at the time of his father’s last letter, but he missed them, especially today, when he knew they would be thinking of him. At that moment he decided he would travel home for Christmas. He could enjoy Spain and the company of the Castellano brothers for another five or six weeks and then make his way back to the chilly island of his birth. When he arrived back at the hotel, he ordered breakfast and sat down at the writing desk.

**The Twentieth of November, 1845**

_Sanditon_

Charlotte stopped mid-sentence as a wave of heat rose from her chest and up her neck, leaving her with covered with beads of perspiration. She fanned herself with her hand.

Mary chuckled. “I am so very happy that phase is over. For me it was always worse at night.”

“Oh, yes, I have them at night as well. Sidney does not appreciate me flapping the covers in the middle of winter.” After a bit more fanning, she said, “All right. Back to James. So he will stay in India for how long?”

“Indefinitely,” Mary sighed. “He works for the East India Company now. Six and twenty years old, unmarried, but claims to be most happy with his life.”

“He and Adam are of the same breed.”

“Any news from him?”

“His last letter said he was leaving for Spain in late October to look at vineyard land. He turned one and twenty two weeks ago, but we have no way of knowing where he is.”

“Difficult isn’t it? Their life is their own, but we still worry about them as if they were a small child.”

###

Sidney greeted her at the door when she arrived home from Trafalgar House. He took her in his arms and kissed her right there in the Great room. With Imogen the only child currently at home, he had become a bit of a libertine at times. At first, she would pretend she was shocked, but of course she wasn’t. Now she did not bother, and draped her arms about his neck.

“Whenever a post comes from our far away son, what do you always ask me before you’ve read it?”

“Is he coming home?” She raised her eyebrows, questioning.

“And what do I always say?”

“No, he is not.”

“Until today.” He grinned at her.

She gasped, eyes wide open, then a joyous smile lit her face. “He is? Truly?”

“For Christmas," he said, covering her with kisses.

She giggled and kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for reading, commenting and leaving kudos.  
> A warning: In the next few chapters. there will be frank discussion of past events that involve predatory sexual behavior. I apologize if anyone is disturbed or offended by the subject matter.


	88. All Together Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I offer the conversation between Jay and Adam as a bit of psychological insight into the men they have become.

**The Seventeenth of December, 1845**

_London_

The gray London afternoon seemed drearier in the cold and drizzle, but stepping inside the Square, Adam entered another world, one filled with light, warmth, and the sound of children, followed by the sight of one in particular, little Samuel Parker. Adam had taken a steamer directly to London from Bilbao, Spain, then a cab from the docks. He had sent word he would arrive that day, but couldn’t be sure it had been received. From the perplexed expression on the boy’s face, he was uncertain who this stranger was.

Adam squatted down on his haunches and opened up his arms. “Hello, Samuel. Do you remember me, your Uncle Adam?” He knew the boy was far too young when last they saw each other, but he was certain his imminent arrival had been discussed.

Samuel chewed on his finger for a moment before giggling and running to his uncle to deliver the biggest embrace a three year old could offer. Almost three years old. Only a few weeks to go. Adam scooped him up and kissed his rosy cheek.

Lora followed shortly behind Samuel, her smile breaking fast and free when she saw Adam. “There you are!” she cried, embracing him around the neck, getting a little of Samuel in the process. “Jay is so anxious to see you!” She gave a quick instruction to the footman about Adam’s luggage, and the servants hurried it up the stairs. Judging from her contented countenance, married life seemed to agree with her, thought Adam. Her tall, stately manner had an ease and grace borne of four years of happiness. He truly felt glad for her. For Jay.

They began small talk about his journey when Jay came thundering down the stairs from the study, lively as ever.

“Ha! I thought I heard your voice. Good heavens! Look at you!”

“And look at you!” Adam countered. He set Samuel down, and the two brothers threw their arms around each other in the age-old greeting, attempting to lift the other off the ground. Adam won.

Jay hooted with laughter. “Well, you always said you would beat me someday, and now you have.” He took hold of Adam’s head with both hands and planted a kiss on his forehead. “But I’m still older!”

“The old man of twenty-five, indeed,” snorted Adam, and he kissed Jay the same way, boisterous and brotherly.

“Good Gad, you look fine,” said Jay, “like a man who’s been enjoying the Mediterranean.”

“And I’ll tell you all about it,” said Adam.

“Excellent! We’ve kept the same room for you. Get settled and come have a drink in the study.”

Indeed it was the same room, although not exactly as it had been. Surely guests had stayed there over the course of two years. It felt as if he’d been gone forever and yet never left. After he washed and changed, he went to the study where Jay stacked papers on the desk that currently bore no resemblance to the one Papa usually maintained, and for a moment Adam wondered if it bothered his father to come to London and see such disarray in the study he had always so meticulously kept. Adam was far more like his father, choosing to keep order around him, but Jay had never been so, always leaving toys, books, and clothing scattered about for the servants to pick up.

As if he read Adam’s thoughts, Jay said, “I know; I know; he tells me at least I’m not as bad as Uncle Tom, but I assure you, I know where everything is.” He motioned Adam to a chair, opened a drawer and pulled out two glasses and a decanter of brandy. “Let us have the good stuff,” he said, pouring and passing over a glass. “Now, here’s to homecomings.” He raised his glass. Adam clinked it with his and they both took a sip. “How goes the wine business?” Jay asked.

“Fascinating,” Adam said. “I still have much to learn.”

“Damn, if you don’t have that rugged Provençal look, like Étienne, brown and hardy.”

“From many hours spent working outside.”

“You wear the outdoors well. Now, how are Arthur and the rest? Mama was so disappointed when you did not come home with them last year.”

“They are all well and ever themselves. And last year I had just arrived. It made no sense to come right back. I went to Italy instead, Genoa precisely, and thereabouts.”

“Yes, I remember. And now Spain. How was that? You looked at vineyard land?”

“Not seriously. I went with two Spaniards, Diego and Mateo Castellano, wealthy brothers out for a lark. The land was not suitable, not for my small level of expertise. But they did serve as notable tour guides. I traveled in their carriage from Barcelona down to Málaga, then up to Toledo and Madrid. I took the diligence to Bilbao from there. Beautiful country. You’d like it. I brought you something from there.” He finished his brandy. Jay motioned him to take another glass.

“I’m sure I would like it, _someday_. Two little ones now. The business. So, a gift from Spain?”

“A very fine Cordovan hat. Black leather, direct from Córdoba.”

Jay’s brows shot up and he downed the rest of his brandy. “Ah! How superb!”

“You’ll look _superb_ in it. Not every man can wear one well.” He poured Jay another glass. “So how is the business?”

“It’s good, growing, yet Father is slowly removing himself.”

Adam raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. “Really? They are well, are they not?”

“Of course, same as ever. He’s simply had enough I think. He always hoped you’d be working with me by now, you know.”

“It cannot support four men with families. You, Michael, Papa _and_ me? I cannot see it.”

“We would have to expand, that’s a given.”

“Not for me. Not now anyway.”

Jay sensed he should not push the subject, and instead took a sip of brandy.

Adam did as well, then asked, “How is everyone else?”

“Justine is here full time with Amelia, and she’s going to balls, a swath of suitors in her wake, I might add.”

“Ha! Good for her!”

“Truly. And Bit is at Winchester, so only Imogen is still home all the time. Papa and Mama don’t seem lonely, though.”

“Amelia and John?”

“Ah…” He shrugged. “Having twins proved quite a challenge. It was not easy for her, you know. Now she’s expecting again, due in May.”

“So she wrote me.”

“And John is ever busy with his work. He’s full time in London now, not traveling like before, but it takes a toll on both of them. Personally, I think he should go into business for himself. Brunel runs him ragged. John is too agreeable sometimes.”

“That trait would not necessarily make for a good man of business.”

“He’s an engineer. Someone else could run the business part of it. I talked to him about designing a bottling machine, one that makes the filling more accurate. We end up with too much waste, and too much contact between wine and the air. The fill amounts are not always even. I know he could design a machine that could do the work far better than dozens of men with funnels do.”

“Hmm… interesting idea. What does he say?”

“He laughs at me, but I do believe he is intrigued. If I know John, he’s already thinking about it.”

“What does Papa say?”

“He thinks it’s a grand idea, but neither of us are inventors, no less engineers. As you know, he also does his best to avoid meddling in our lives, so he isn’t about to tell John to leave his position with Brunel and become an inventor. Mama, too, I mean, she might miss you, but she never tries to make you stay, does she, or make you feel like a heel for leaving?”

“No, no, never like that. She doesn’t have to though; I already know how she feels.”

Jay nodded and took a sip. “They’re coming for dinner tonight, Amelia, John, and Justine. Hope you aren’t too tired.”

Adam shook his head. “No, I’ll be happy to see them. The babies, too?”

“No, not the twins. You’ll meet them tomorrow.”

“I can meet one niece here, today, can I not? Nell?”

Jay beamed. “Nine months old. She’s a beauty.”

“Spoken like a proud father.”

“Because I am,” said Jay. “I hope you will be, too, someday.”

“I would have to find a woman I want to marry first.”

“Love will find _you_ , dear brother, of that we all are certain.”

“Discussing me, eh?”

“Always.” He winked. “Bit’s doing well, likes Winchester. Recently saved an injured cat, half dead it seems, doctored it back to health. I suppose you heard?”

Adam nodded.

“So now they have a cat at home, called Phoenix, along with old Rascal. Imogen takes care of both when he’s gone.”

“When do we leave for home?”

“Friday morning. The ball is on Saturday, and we’ll have nearly a week before returning for New Year celebrations. Babington’s ball is on the twenty-ninth. When do you return to France?”

“Whenever I wish. The vineyard is quiet now. We did a small pruning just before I left in October, mostly to keep Mistral damage to a minimum, removing errant vines that will be whipped about and the like.”

“Ah, the Mistral. The first time we were there… they say that year was quite severe.”

“I barely remember it, except the shutters banging so loudly. I was the same age Samuel is now."

"That's right! Amazing is it not?"

Adam nodded. "I do remember you cooking, though.”

Jay grinned. “Dear Madame Gravier. How I adored her. I can close my eyes and see her face, smell the kitchen, the chocolate, onions… No one can cook the way she did. Not as I remember it.”

“The cook now is quite good. Arthur wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“No, you’re right, of course. And Madame was gone the last time we were there, in ’33. What a strange trip that one was, for me anyway.”

“Why so?”

“Ah, nothing.”

Adam sat forward in his chair, eyebrow raised. “No, you cannot just say it was strange, all of a sudden after twelve years, and then not say why.”

Jay shook his head and pointed at his brother. “I swear you to secrecy, then. I’ve never told another soul, not even Lora. Or John.”

“You have it.”

Jay poured another brandy, motioned to Adam, who nodded, and poured one for him. “Do you remember that pretty maid, the one who lit the fires and made beds and all. Young, seventeen at the most. Local girl.”

“Big bosomed.”

“Very.”

“I remember. How could I not?”

“She seduced me, the day before we left.”

Adam’s mouth fell open. “How did I miss that?”

“You were nine.”

They both chuckled at first, then the laughter grew into guffaws and snorts.

“Come on,” said Adam, still laughing, “you are obligated to tell.”

Jay wiped his eyes and lowered his voice, a bit conspiratorially. “I had my own room that visit, and happened upon her while she made my bed. She was quite a temptress, asking me if I wanted to learn how to please a woman. What thirteen year old boy in his right mind would have said no? I locked the door, and she was quite thorough in her lesson. I certainly was not her first.”

“Did you actually do the act? At _thirteen_?”

“No, she wouldn’t let me, but she took care of me, so to speak.”

Adam shook his head. “And I went all the way to sixteen before being seduced.”

Now it was Jay’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Where?”

“Winchester.”

He wagged his finger. “Don’t think you can bring it up and not finish the story. Lex talionis and all.”

“An eye for an eye?”

“Damn right.”

“Very well, you, too, are sworn to secrecy.”

“You have it.”

“She was a master’s wife.”

Jay nearly shouted. “No! I do not believe you.”

“It’s true. She was young, and he was old. I’d been introduced to her at some function or another. Later, she asked me to carry a package home for her when she saw me in town. And that was that. She also was most thorough in her... lessons.”

“Don’t tell me, it was old Wilson’s wife? The mathematics master?”

“The very one.”

“Egad. She was beautiful. No doubt still is.”

“I can vouch for her beauty when I knew her.” He held up his glass.

“Once?”

“Twice.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “Old Master Wilson’s wife. Good God, Adam, I am stunned. What happened to end it?”

He swirled his brandy about in the glass. “I was actually terrified I’d be found out, expelled, bring shame to the family, to her. They had no children. I kept thinking of Charles’s farm. I wondered if she was trying to… to use me like some sort of stud horse with good teeth and fine haunches to sire a child since he was so old and probably couldn’t.”

Jay laughed at the thought. “Well, he is ancient.”

“But he was _kind_ , really, I liked him. He was a good master, one of the few who truly cared about his students. I felt wretched cuckolding the poor man. So I stopped. She still asked me to carry things when she saw me, and I would, so as not to be rude, but nothing more. I dropped off whatever it was and _ran_. After a few times, she moved on to another boy I suppose. I did my best to avoid her from then on.”

“There were rumors when I was there, never substantiated that I heard.” They both sat quietly for a moment. Jay continued. “What decent boys we were. Prey rather than pursuers. Probably why I never asserted myself with Emmy, then lost my mind over Lora.”

Adam rubbed his jaw, lost in thought for a moment, remembering. “True, the experience changed my entire perspective on young ladies, from the angle of lust at least. The first time I was dazed, bewitched, what sixteen year old boy in his right mind wouldn’t be, to paraphrase you. But the second time, after I had a chance to think about it, see Master Wilson at the school, my sense of dishonor far outweighed the pleasure. She was a married woman nearly twice my age. I was a _schoolboy_. I called her _Mrs Wilson_ the entire time. It was perverse. Now you tell me there were others before.” He sighed, then made the same disdainful sneer his father did, lower lip curled against the upper. “I would have rather been seduced a lusty young maid, quite honestly.”

“I had my share of shame afterward. Thirteen is quite a tender age. I’m not certain she knew, as I looked older than I was. As did you, Aaron, too.”

“And Papa, according to Diana.”

“Well, Aaron will surprise you. He’s going to be taller than any of us.”

“I only hope he’s behaving himself with Imogen.”

“I believe he is. But I also believe they will end up marrying each other.”

“A hunch?”

“In a way. He loves her, he says.”

“Told me the same two years ago.”

Jay nodded, knowingly. “At least we won’t have to worry he’ll be seduced by Mrs Wilson at Winchester.”

“Or a maid? Could be worse. Look at Papa. His first was in a brothel,” said Adam.

“Too drunk to remember much.”

“Told me the same. Were you fifteen when he spoke to you about it?”

“I was. No doubt Aaron gets the same talk this summer.’

Adam snickered. “I’m glad he did, though. Most fathers don’t bother.”

“I remember feeling quite annoyed, that he was a hypocrite telling me not to frequent brothels when he did himself as a young man.”

“He regretted it, though, for a host of reasons, which is what he was trying to impart.”

“Yes, I know. And by the time I was at Oxford, Conrad and I were the only two men in our entire circle of acquaintances who did not partake. And listening to them was like being cold sober in a room full of drunkards. It was then I realized he was right. Papa that is.”

“Same with the brothers I traveled with through Spain. I’m proud to say I paid heed to my father's advice and have never set foot in one. I’ve not lacked for female companionship, either.”

“This conversation will never leave this room.” He rapped the desk with his knuckles. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.” They clinked glasses. A sentimental smile crept across Adam’s face. “But I must say it brings a great sense of relief to finally tell someone. I’m glad it was you.”

Jay gazed at his brother, immense love washing over him like a warm bath. “Yes, I feel exactly the same.”

**The Nineteenth of December, 1845**

_Sanditon_

Charlotte’s glance went round her table. They were all together for the first time in two years. She thought her heart might burst with happiness, and yet she knew she was being foolish. Her children were not hers to keep, she knew, just as her own mother had to watch as the chairs at her table became empty. And in London they were together with Jay and Lora and the little ones, Amelia and John and now Justine a few blocks away. Mary had two gone, Jenny and James. Charlotte was lucky, only Adam had wanderlust. She was sure Aaron and Imogen would stay closer to home when they grew older.

The meal was nearly finished, just sweets and nuts left to nibble on, the air full of teasing and laughter. The nanny brought out the twins and Samuel for time with the family before bed. Adam took both Susan and Sarah on his lap, entertaining them with silly stories and French songs. Amelia and John seemed peaceful and happy with each other. Lora and Justine, such a lovely young woman now, discussed one of few English operas, _The Bohemian Girl,_ first performed two years ago at the Drury Lane Theatre. Jay, Aaron and Imogen debated whether or not charities for animal welfare were necessary. Sidney had Samuel on his lap, neither talking, simply enjoying each other’s company. Little Nell was asleep in the nursery. Charlotte thought she would leave to check on her, nanny or no, but first her eyes met Sidney’s. He knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling, as his thoughts and feelings were the same. She rose and went to his chair, cupping Samuel’s cheery little face.

“I’m going to check on Nell, I will return in a moment,” she said, giving him a kiss on his nose. He giggled and snuggled into his grandfather, who looked up at her with the smile that was always and only for her.


	89. End of Part 2 -- From Ballrooms to Vineyards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving along, as Part 3 coming up will be the last section. Buckets of love and thank yous.

**The Twentieth of December, 1845**

_Sanditon_

Sidney escorted Charlotte off the dance floor and over to the refreshment table for mulled wine. With mugs in hand, they moved to a quiet spot, observing the scene. Adam, who could have chosen from a bevy of young ladies anxious to dance with him, escorted his Aunt Mary out to the floor.

Charlotte leaned in to Sidney. “I am loathe to say it, but it seems these two years away have done him a world of good.”

“Mmm, yes, I believe I said so last night.” He looked down at her with an amused expression. “I’m pleased you agree with me.”

She matched his amusement and raised it. “Whatever would I do without you to tell me what to think?”

“Ah, I’ve never told you what to think, my love. I know better than that.”

“After twenty-six years, I certainly hope so.” She looked back out over the dance floor. “But I do mean what I say. He has a confidence he did not possess before. Perhaps it seems so because we last saw him at nineteen. He is a man now.”

“And a fine one.”

“Indeed. He’s breaking hearts as we speak.”

Justine, in an emerald satin gown, floated by in the arms of yet another smitten young gentleman, her honey colored hair woven into an elaborate bun with long ringlets at the temples. Her perfect heart shaped face with its dimpled chin and high cheekbones was tilted up to him, a slight smile on her pouty lips. Her hazel eyes, made greener by the emerald gown, regarded him demurely.

“How many young callers with flowers in their hand will show up tomorrow?” asked Sidney. “Should we wager?”

Charlotte laughed softly. “We missed all of this with Amelia. She decided on John so young.” They were both quiet for a moment, having promised themselves they would not scrutinize Amelia’s marriage. “I never would have expected our little Justine to grow into a goddess.” She felt Sidney’s hand slide down the small of her back, briefly cupping her behind through the layer of petticoats before encircling her waist.

“Well, her mother is a goddess. I certainly expected no less.” He looked out over the crowd, a small smile on his lips.

“Flattery Mr Parker? What are your intentions?” She gazed up at him with a smirk.

“Why do you ask?” He held her just a bit tighter and continued to watch the dancers while sipping his wine. 

“Well, you know flattery will get you everywhere.”

He leaned down to put his lips against her ear, saying in a low rumble, “I find the prospect of _everywhere_ quite tantalizing.”

“So you do have intentions?” She leaned into to him ever so slightly.

“No more than usual.” He stood tall again.

“With you, that could mean almost anything.”

“Keeps your interest, does it not?” He leaned down to her ear again. “My only intention is to elicit my favorite sounds from you. How I achieve that will be purely _spontaneous.”_

A familiar sensation rushed downward from his lips at her ear, pooling low inside her. She had to force herself to keep appearances, not to close her eyes and sink into him. She exhaled softly through slightly parted lips.

“Ah, there’s the first one,” he whispered against her temple, “the voiceless sigh.” He straightened and looked out over the scene, then cast a serious look at her, betrayed by the twinkle in his eyes. “Do you suppose people think we’re discussing our grandchildren?”

“SIDNEY!”

He snapped his head up, a fleeting look of annoyance passing across his face, replaced immediately with the tolerant expression he wore for his brother.

“Tom. You needn’t shout when you are three paces away.”

“Yes, sorry, sorry.” He nodded to Charlotte before moving alongside Sidney. “We’re missing Lord Babington and his family. Could they not make it?”

“No, they could not this year. Nor the Molyneuxs, nor the Crowes. You are of course invited to Babington’s ball next week. They should all be there.”

“Still a very good turnout,” said Charlotte.

“I have no complaints,” said Tom. “You must be pleased to have Adam home.”

“Yes, we are quite happy to have our wayfarer back, even if it is temporary. I’m certain you must miss James and Jenny terribly.”

“Jenny comes often enough,” said Tom. “And she’s happy in her life. James… yes, James I do miss a great deal. May I be frank?” He moved to Charlotte’s side now.

“Yes, of course,” she said.

“I wasn’t well for so much of the time when James was young. I feel I’ve missed my chance to know him. And now he’s far away in India. Make no mistake, I’m very proud of him, but a bit melancholy I suppose.”

“Come now, Tom,” said Sidney. “I was gone for over eight years. Surely James will not be away for such a length.”

“Yes, you were. I still feel remorseful for that. You never saw Father or Mother again.”

“Why do you feel remorse?” asked Charlotte.

“I agreed to it, you see. Father first proposed enlisting, but Mother forbade it, as it would have placed my dear brother in the middle of the war with Napoleon. She said she had dreams of Sidney dying in battle. She did not wish him to leave the country at all. But Father had done business with George Lambe, so that became his compromise with Mother, and off Sidney went.”

Sidney shook his head. “Water under the bridge, Tom. You had no way of knowing they would become ill and pass away. They weren’t old, not by the standards of our own ages now. And I chose to stay abroad as long as I did. There’s no need for you to feel remorse.”

“I suppose…” His eyes lit up. “Ah! There are Lord and Lady Melrose. Excuse me, I must greet them.” And off he went, weaving through guests as if they were not there.

“I know I should be more tolerant.”

“You are tolerant. We both are. You are not your brother’s keeper.” She took a sip of the mulled wine, finding it cooled but still palatable.

Adam brought Mary over to them as the dance had ended. He handed her a drink and stood next to his mother as Mary moved next to Sidney. “Wasn’t Tom here a moment ago?” she asked.

“He was, then took off in pursuit of a Lord and Lady to greet,” said Sidney.

Mary pursed her lips. “I hope he was not bothering you about the Queen again.”

“No mention of it. We discussed James. And me, of all things.”

“I should like to see James myself,” said Adam. “It has been years.”

Mary nodded. “Neither of your times at home have coincided, have they? Pity.” Tom caught her eye and began to wave her over. “Excuse me,” she said. “Tom beckons.”

Out on the dance floor, John had Lora as a partner, while Jay was with Amelia. Charlotte looked up at Adam standing beside her. He felt her eyes upon him and looked down, his half smile in place.

“Yes, Mama?”

She chuckled. “Do you believe I have a question for you?”

“I know you have a question for me.” He met his father’s eyes over her head, reassured by the merriment he saw in them.

Seeing his gaze shift to Sidney, she turned to assess him. Sidney looked down with the same half smile. She looked back at Adam and then straight ahead. “Bookends,” she said with more than a tinge of sarcasm.

Both her husband and her son grew their half smile to a whole one with teeth showing, adding a chuckle for good measure.

“Apt description,” said her son.

“Agreed,” said her husband.

“Countless ladies out there would give anything to be standing in my shoes right this minute. Adam, have you no care to put them out of their misery?”

He sighed. “Mama, I have been introduced to so many this evening I cannot recall half the names, and I’ve danced with half a dozen already. I do enjoy dancing, truly I do. Nevertheless, to those young ladies, it isn’t _dancing_ but a calculated effort to ensnare me. It’s all fluttering eyelashes and coquettish babbling. And if there are interesting ladies about, I never seem to have any luck at finding them.” He turned and bowed to her. “I would, however, be honored to dance with you.” He offered her his hand.

She looked at Sidney and gave him the drink she held. He winked at her and watched as the two of them took their place waiting for the next dance. A passing footman offered his tray to take away the mugs. A member of the board for the Sanditon Gas Light and Coke Company approached him for a brief conversation. And then he stood alone, watching his wife dance with his second son; his first son now dance with _his_ wife; his first daughter dance with her husband; and his second daughter dance with yet another love struck young man.

He felt no worry over Justine, but he did with Amelia. At times, John came close to neglecting his family in favor of his work. Sidney supposed much of his son-in-law’s motivation was rooted in proving himself amid prejudice, but Amelia was a woman of complexity who required an equal partner, not a distracted and weary breadwinner. He agreed with Jay that John should start his own engineering company, one that Sidney himself would invest in. But it was not his place to offer John uninvited counsel about his career. He’d have to find a way to weave it into the conversation without appearing to interfere.

There was Charlotte, positively radiant in the arms of her son. He understood Adam’s sentiment about being ensnared, having gone through it himself. Still, he wondered what brought his son to such a jaded state so early in life. Adam had never spoken of a special lady, or of having his heart broken. Sidney did not doubt his son had experience with women, but the source of Adam’s cynical convictions remained a mystery.

He thought then of his third son and hoped he was behaving himself with the object of his affections. But he did have to admit Miss Thornton, the governess, kept Imogen on a tight lead. Five and a half more years for Aaron to come of age, six for Imogen. _I will turn sixty in between the two,_ he thought. Where had the time gone? Tom was nearly sixty, and despite his illness he wasn’t yet doddering. Étienne was sixty, and he was a strong, vibrant man. It was unfortunate they had not been able to return to France for so many years. He envied Adam in that regard. When the boys were in school, travel was nearly impossible, as they would either have to pull them out or leave them behind. But he and Charlotte would travel, just the two of them. Of that he was certain.

**The Twenty-Ninth of December, 1845**

_London_

Adam scanned in tables in the dingy pub looking for Isaac Stringer’s head of thick brown curls. At a back corner table, he spotted Stringer, who waved in acknowledgement. He stood as Adam approached, both men giving each other firm backslaps. Isaac was a year younger, a tall, robust fellow with a handsome face and broad smile that made deep dimples in both cheeks.

They fell easily into conversation over a couple of pints. While Isaac was largely unaware of the long standing rivalry between their fathers, Adam years ago had noticed the guarded attitude of his father towards Mr Stringer when he worked on the last addition to the Old Parker House, the one that included the bathing room. He also noticed the furtive glances Mr Stringer cast at his mother. Mr Stringer stopped coming to the regatta events when Isaac was still a young boy, but Isaac and Adam met again at Winchester and made a solid friendship. Whatever transpired between their fathers had nothing to do with them.

Isaac was in his third year at Oxford, and after that, he planned to head for New York, where lived his great uncle, Stephen, brother of his grandfather. Though Isaac was named for his dead grandfather, his living grandfather took more than a passing interest in his welfare. Isaac attended both his grandfather’s alma maters, and would soon be introduced to American building techniques in his great-uncle’s company, now run by his sons. Isaac’s plan was to leave in early spring of ’47, and stay a year or so. By that time, Adam would be finished with his three years in the Var, and perhaps he would come for a visit. He’d like to see New York, and having a friend there would be a great asset. Isaac was delighted at the idea. Tentative plans were made then and there.

###

“Why do they resemble a flock of magpies?” asked Babington, eyeing their sons, all dressed in degrees of black and white with a flash of color here and there, strutting about together, sharing laughs and stories.

Sidney, Otis and Crowe exchanged glances. “Perhaps they are imitating their fathers,” drawled Crowe. “Are we not standing together like a flock of _magpies_ ourselves?”

“There are only four of us, while their number is five,” said Babington. “Five becomes a flock.”

“Where did you hear that?” asked Otis, thoroughly amused.

“He conjured it up from deep, dark recesses of his mind,” answered Crowe, drawing circles with his index finger in the air around his ear.

Babington rolled his eyes.

“Two of the five are yours, Babington,” Sidney reminded.

“Oh never mind that. We are old, married men, while they, the fruit of our loins, are young, and should be dancing with young ladies.”

“Good luck convincing Adam in that regard,” said Sidney.

“And George,” said Otis.

“Well, at least you have your eldest son married, Parker, the father of two no less. Anthony will be twenty-three and shows no interest in settling. He’s the heir to the title. He has an obligation,” Babington returned.

Crowe snorted. “And your age when you finally captured the fair Miss Denham’s heart? Were you not twenty- _eight?”_

“Altogether different,” Babington said in a huff. “I had been the second son. I had no obligations until my brother died.”

Crowe scoffed. “Equivocation does not suit you, Babington. And for the record, Robert, my _eldest_ son, is still twenty. He has time as far as I am concerned. My daughter just married. My son can wait.”

“The way I see it, those five are good friends who haven’t shared the pleasure of each other’s company in some time. They have much to talk about,” said Otis.

“This is a ball, not a club. Esther goes out of her way to invite every eligible young lady in London. The suitable ones, anyway.”

“Perhaps the boys are more interested in the _unsuitable_ ones,” taunted Crowe. “You sowed your share of wild oats I might add. What do you think, Parker?”

“I trust my son’s judgement,” Sidney replied. “If I could not, I would have only myself to blame.”

As they watched, Esther glided over, taking both Anthony and Marcus by the arm, marching them off towards a gaggle of young ladies. Something she said to the other three before leaving caused their immediate disbursement into the crowd.

“There, you see, Babbers. While we stood like magpies, your Lady sorted the boys,” said Crowe.

“I wonder what she told them,” mused Otis.

“It no doubt contained the words pain and death,” said Babington.

The four of them shifted their stances, and as chuckles wafted about, one checked his watch, while another adjusted his cuffs, while another cleared his throat.

“Perhaps we should mingle before we receive the same,” suggested Sidney, and they scattered to the four corners of the ballroom.

SEVEN WEEKS LATER.

**The Seventeenth of February, 1846**

_Saint-Tropez_

Parting seemed easier this time. Adam had stayed through most of January, for Samuel’s third, Amelia’s twenty-third, and Justine’s eighteenth birthday. He took a steamer all the way to Marseille, which afforded him plenty of time to write letters and read. From Marseille, he rode the diligence coach, which now went through to Saint-Tropez and Sainte-Maxime, then paid a sou to a boy in the street to help him carry his luggage to the family compound. Thankfully it was not raining, nor was the wind howling.

When he first arrived two years prior, they had offered him the use of the guest house, but he declined. It was far too large for his needs, and would require more of the servants. Besides much of the time during the wine season, he stayed at the Boudreau estate. So he kept a small room in the main house and no more. The first to greet him was Francis, his tall, elegant figure appearing in the front doorway as if he knew all along Adam would arrive at that moment. “Oh my dear nephew, you have arrived,” he said, then calling inside. “Adam has returned!”

The footman rushed out to take care of the luggage, while Francis wrapped his nephew in an embrace. “Why did you not tell us? We would have come for you in Marseille.”

Arthur barreled out, “Ah, there you are! How good to see you!” Nothing in the world could compare with an embrace from Uncle Arthur. It was as if one were being squeezed by a bear holding a large, soft pillow.

They hustled Adam inside where Diana and Isabelle waited, all anxious to hear the news from England and tales of Spain. He assured Isabelle he carried letters from Justine. She too, was eighteen now, strikingly beautiful, and very envious of Justine’s current life of balls and suitors.

After Adam had washed and changed, he gathered up the letters he brought from the family and went to the drawing room, where champagne and delicate amuse-gueules waited. Shortly after, Étienne arrived, delighted to see Adam had returned. With him he brought an English gentleman, Ashton Pembroke, who had been visiting the vineyard buying grape plants to transport to Mexico. Étienne thought he might enjoy a visit with his fellow countrymen.

Over dinner, Mr Pembroke told his spellbinding tale of a land at the other side of North America, on the Pacific Ocean, a place called Alta California, and part of Mexico. He had a rancho there.

“What is that?” asked Isabelle.

“It’s a huge tract of land, thousands of hectares; they measure it in leagues, actually. My rancho is small, relatively speaking, five leagues, which is about 8800 hectares. Other ranchos are fifteen leagues and more. Usually one family owns a rancho, and cattle are most important. Many also raise sheep. They have large gardens and vineyards, orchards; it’s very much like Spain, southern Spain in particular.”

“What do they raise the cattle for?” Arthur asked.

“Hides and tallow mostly. But I am not raising cattle. I am raising grapes. It’s the perfect climate for it.”

Round the table the questions flew at Mr Pembroke. How did he come to know this place? How long had he been there? The only one not asking questions was Adam, who sat quietly, absorbing everything.

“Of course, Mexico and America have just gone to war. Most of the native Californios are tired of the haphazard Mexican rule, but they don’t much like the Yankees either. Mostly, they’d like to be left alone, but the odds are, California will go the way of Texas and become part of the United States. The future will be rather bright when that happens.”

“So your wife is a Californio?” asked Diana.

“She is. From a very old family. The Californios are descendants of the Spaniards that came up centuries ago from New Spain, as they called Mexico, soldiers and the like. When Mexico won its independence from Spain, California became part of Mexico.”

“Spanish is the native tongue?” asked Francis.

“Indeed, but other languages are spoken, too. There are Yankees who live there, a few Englishmen and Scots, Russians, as well. And native peoples, although they are treated quite harshly and have been since the Spanish first came to the New World.”

After dinner, when they had moved to the drawing room, Adam finally spoke his thoughts.

“I’d like to see this place, Mr Pembroke.”

“Ashton, please, or even Ash.”

“Very well, Adam, then. How would I go about getting there? It wouldn’t be for some time. I could help in your vineyard and earn my keep.”

“I wouldn’t recommend even trying to come until the war is over. I have papers that will facilitate my journey, but you will not. The fastest way is to sail to Veracruz in Mexico, then over land to Acapulco de Juárez, then another ship to San Francisco Bay. My rancho is north, near the Mission of Sonoma, so you’d have to buy a horse and a pack mule in Yerba Buena, that’s the town on San Francisco Bay. How are you on a horse? In California, horsemanship is everything."

"I've been riding since I was six. My uncle breeds horses, and I've worked on his farm."

"Excellent. My rancho is a distance from Yerba Buena, not as the crow flies, but around the other bays. I’ll write it all down for you. And give me your address. Mail isn’t easy from there, you have to ask a clipper ship captain to take it to a large port, or sometimes give to the traders who cross overland. Sometimes it goes all around through the Strait of Magellan. It’s not an easy place to get to; I warn you, and not an easy place to get away from.”

“I would like to go. I’ll be here for another nine months or so. Then I’ll go home for a time. Then I’m planning a visit to New York. So perhaps after that.”

“Give me your address in England, just in case.”

“I will.”

Ashton Pembroke, formerly of Her Majesty's Royal Navy and nobody's fool, took stock of the young man before him. In a split second, he knew. “I would welcome a man of your background, and Étienne speaks very highly of you. A fellow Englishman. I hope you do come.” He held out his hand.

Adam took it.


	90. Part 3 -- Honest Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, £17,000 in 1846 was equivalent to £1,775,000 and $2,488,000 today. A £2,000 yearly income in 1846 would be £235,000 and $332,000 today (all figures rounded).

SEVEN MONTHS LATER.

**The Twenty-Sixth of September, 1846**

_London_

John Conrad’s father-in-law, a man he respected and loved, sat quietly, waiting. Usually when John sat in this chair, it was his old friend, Jay, sitting across the desk from him, but John knew full well this was Sidney Parker’s house and his study. John accepted the glass of port offered, but he wasn’t sure he would drink it just yet. He’d requested a word with the man and he needed to speak, as embarrassing as it was. Many months before, he had sat in this same chair and argued vehemently with his father-in-law about buying railway shares with Susan’s gift. Now, the buying frenzy of railway mania had collapsed, and many lost everything.

“I wanted to thank you for the advice you gave, about the risk of investing Amelia’s inheritance in railway shares. I see now your reasoning.”

“Ah, yes, you stood to lose a great deal of money. It had all the signs of a bubble, and I’m grateful you followed my recommendation. Parliament never should have repealed the Bubble Act without a suitable mechanism to replace it.”

“When did they do that?” He kept to himself it was Amelia’s fury in the end that prevented him from making the catastrophic blunder. She trusted her father’s financial savvy far more than his, and she was right.

“In ’25.” Sidney shifted in his chair, partly to stem his desire to tidy the usual piles of papers and documents left about by his son, but more from caution, a moment to weigh his words, as he felt he could no longer remain silent. “May I ask if you would take a little more advice, not on stock investing, but your future, nevertheless?”

It was John’s turn to shift. “Certainly sir, if you care to give me advice I will gladly listen.”

“I understand you will be involved in the new London to York line with the GWR, now that it has been authorized by Parliament.”

“Brunel and I have discussed it, yes.”

“Will it mean time away again, as with the Bristol line?”

John wasn’t expecting this, and yet he was. “I will most likely be sent afield, yes, to supervise as with the Bristol line. It’s my job, Father; Mr Brunel expects me to be his man at the site.”

“You’ve been with the company six years, have you not?”

John nodded. “Yes, since July of ’40.”

“Surely Mr Brunel could move a man of your talents to a position that keeps you closer to home?”

“He could, but I doubt he wishes to with this project.”

“Is it essential you stay with the company then? You are a talented engineer, could you not work for a different company? Or for yourself?”

John half sighed, half chuckled. “I see you have spoken with Jay.”

“Yes, I have.” He paused, rubbed his jaw, and receiving no response, continued. “Would you indulge this old man and allow me to tell you a story from my life?”

“It takes no indulgence to listen to you, Father, I assure you.”

Sidney smiled in appreciation and settled back into his chair. “When I returned from Antigua I was twenty-six and had earned myself a modest fortune, much from the sale of my holdings there before I left. I had a small inheritance from my father awaiting me when I returned, and a smaller one from my mother’s brother. I started my import export company in London because, truthfully, that was all I’d ever done in my life – shipping and trade, as my father and his father before. Nearly two years later, when Charlotte and I married, I was well off and could provide for her. Her father’s small estate was lucrative, but with twelve children, her marriage settlement was naturally quite small, but it made no difference to me; I married her because I loved her.”

John looked appalled. “Surely you do not think I married Amelia for her money?”

“No, of course not. Please hear me out.”

John nodded and changed his mind about the port.

“Despite my business being in London, we decided to live in Sanditon. Charlotte cared little for London at that time, and I was quite tired of it myself, but it meant I had to travel periodically, mostly when shipments arrived or departed. Most other tasks I managed to accomplish from Sanditon after reorganizing my procedures. And in the beginning, she traveled with me, but after Jay and then Amelia, such journeys became a hardship for her. I had already pared down the kind of goods I traded in and therefore the time away, and my investments were doing very well, but Charlotte detested my leaving, worrying about me constantly while I was gone, as did I about her.”

“Amelia has spoken of this to me. Your absences were but a few days in length, the rest of the time you were home.”

“True, but during high shipping season, I would make three, sometimes four trips per month. In the deep winter, few to none. But still, Charlotte was unhappy with the situation. Our fortune had grown considerably and she did not understand why I worked at all. I explained we had two households to run and at that time, three children, a fourth on the way. I had trimmed back my work as much as I could, and we were planning to leave for the first trip to France, which meant shutting the business down for at least six months.”

“And you could do that, of course because it was your business.” John had an idea where his father-in-law was heading.

“Precisely. And in the end, that trip to France was the start of my wine business, which allowed me to all but quit trade and the frequent trips to London.”

“But trade is the main business now.”

“After I brought Michael aboard I was able to return to it, yes. Now Jay has expanded it two, even three-fold. I do not possess the talent and training you have, but I did well for myself. And I have every reason to believe you would do very well in your own business. Or perhaps another engineering firm would hire you and keep you closer to home.”

“My work with Brunel’s company is one of the best opportunities any young engineer could hope for. He is a good man. It would be disloyal for me to seek work with another.”

“I understand your sense of fidelity to him. He has, after all, been a mentor, given you many opportunities to learn and establish yourself, both having great value. But have you considered you may be placing your career before your family?”

The words stung. John sat up straight and looked Sidney in the eye. “Sir, I love my family. They are first in everything to me.”

“Of that I have no doubt. But you now have twin girls _and_ an infant son, yet still, you plan to again be away for weeks at a time.”

“We do have a nanny to assist Amelia.”

“Forgive my frankness, but in my opinion, a nanny is not a replacement for a father or a husband. Surely you are aware of Amelia’s unhappiness?”

He sighed and downed the rest of the port. “I am very aware. You are familiar with Amelia’s gift with language.”

Sidney leaned forward in his chair. “Do you believe her discontent is unjustified?”

“Not unjustified, but perhaps slightly irrational.”

Sidney finished his port and placed the glass on the desk with a calculated movement, tamping down a flash of anger. “The Amelia I know is rarely irrational, and has never been prone to emotional excess, yet her mother and I have never seen our daughter so… so downhearted.”

“Many occupations require time away from one’s family. You just told me the story of yours.”

“And of how I solved it to both Charlotte’s and my satisfaction. I recall your father saying he chose a managerial position with the Ordnance Survey after you were born, so he would not be out in the field as a surveyor, away from home. He loved survey work, he said, but his family was more important. Am I remembering correctly?”

“You are.”

“Many men keep mistresses and pay no attention to their wife or children. I am not such a man, nor are you. It’s a _choice_ , John. When my daughter came of age, I transferred what was at that time 17,000 pounds of her inheritance to your control. That alone earns you over 2000 pounds a year. You are not without means. You live in a fine London home and have a country estate, both of which are self-sufficient and cost you nothing, or nearly.”

“Yes, and your marriage settlement was most generous, and Amelia’s inheritance is now _mine,_ ” he said with a scowl. “Please understand I wanted _none_ of it. I wanted to provide for her myself, as you did for your wife.”

Sidney nearly scoffed but caught himself. “Countless men of wealth in this country received it through marriage. There is no shame in it. Had Charlotte brought wealth to our marriage, I would have stopped my business entirely. God knows I had enough work those early years managing my brother’s affairs. Amelia’s financial contribution not only enabled the two of you to marry for love, it gives you means to _choose_ where and how you work, far more than I ever could because _you_ have talent and skill. Furthermore, I am more than willing to invest in you, in a company of your making if you cannot reach an understanding with Mr Brunel.”

John seemed to dig in his heels. “I know nothing about starting an engineering company.”

“Then come work for my company to start.”

“The bottling machine.”

“Why not? Take a few hours away from work and come to the bottling plant next week, see for yourself what Jay has told you. Wherever you go from there, designing machinery, more civil engineering, you have the means and the ability. You trusted me about the railway stock, and I was right. I ask you to trust me here, for the sake of Amelia and your children, and _yourself_.”

John ran both hands through his hair, sighing. “And what if I fail? Then I cannot go back to work for Brunel.”

Sidney rose and fetched the decanter of port, pouring both of them another glass. “You have not failed thus far. Brunel has found no fault with your work, has he?”

“No.”

“You have a First in Mathematics from Oxford, hardly the mark of a man who fails. Is it the excitement you’ll miss, in the field?”

“In a way, yes, although many of the company’s projects are quite small in scope. But even when I work here in London, Amelia is distressed and says I work too many hours.”

“Do you?” He downed half the second glass.

“Yes, often, but how can I say I would not with a new venture? And many, many engineering projects require travel.”

“Because you’ll work for yourself, set your own hours, decide when you travel. You will be the master, not the subordinate. Even if you have a contractual agreement that specifies time of completion, you determine how it will be done. A solicitor will aid you in all the details of contracts and the like. I can recommend several.”

John was silent.

Sidney studied him, remembering the confident, engaging boy who first came to his home with Jay, when was it? Ten years ago? He seemed so world-weary now, almost benumbed. “Do you regret marrying her?”

John flinched, and with a stricken expression he cried, “NO! I love Amelia!”

“Then you need to resolve this. I am certain you have no wish to wake up fifteen years from now to discover your career is glorious but your children have grown up with half a father and your wife is a stranger. Because even great love can be worn down by discontent. Do you wish to risk that? Is losing her love a fair trade for a position with Mr Brunel’s company? Or will it be you who loses your love for her because you resent her demands? Or both?”

John put his head in his hands and said in a near whisper, “No. I could not bear to lose her love.”

“I did not think so.” He rose and stepped towards John, gently clasping the younger man’s shoulder. “Make a decision, my son. Which is more important to you, your family or your work with Brunel?” He released John’s shoulder and gave it a few reassuring pats before departing, closing the door behind him.

###

“You did not meddle, Sidney, you intervened on behalf of our daughter. And our grandchildren.” She played with the curls on the crown of his head as he lay against her.

“I could not continue to see her in such a despondent state, knowing he’ll be off again when they have no financial need for it.”

“I am certain he loves her and the children. He dotes on them whenever I see them together. But she feels _overlooked_ at times, and I fear it might be no different if the projects are his own.”

“How did she misread him so? She was supremely confident he was the one for her, that she had no need to look elsewhere. Justine I could understand, but Amelia? Always so cautious. For heaven’s sake, she met him when she was thirteen, it isn’t as if she barely knew him.”

“I don’t believe she misread him; I believe his desire to prove himself has become all encompassing. It started before they married, when Amelia inherited from Susan. You recall they argued about where to live, and she nearly broke the engagement.”

“He says he wants no part of her fortune. Ridiculous, of course, legally the money is his, and certainly he can use it to better her life and the children’s. He wants to provide for her himself, and it seems he feels a lesser man because she brought him assets. I cannot help but think it all stems from having to overcome the prejudice he faces. It consumes him as you said.”

“What would you have done had I brought the same fortune when we wed?”

He chuckled and moved up to rest his head on the pillow with hers. “I would have shuttered my business directly. Perhaps kept my shares in the _Swift_ , but in no way would I have continued traveling back and forth.” He reached up and stroked her cheek. “Between my business and Tom, those first few years were pure torment, so much time spent away from you. Overseeing the construction, ordering materials, paying bills and wages, fending off Tom’s constant insults and anger, and _then_ having to leave for London to supervise an arrival. Without you, I would have gone mad myself.”

“No, you would not have. And neither will Amelia or John. They'll work this out, I am certain. I believe you gave him sound advice.” She nudged his nose with hers and landed a velvet soft kiss on his lips. “Perhaps it was the early years of missing each other so that made us inseparable now.”

“Not so.”

“Not so? Why?”

“We’ve always been inseparable, hence the torment of those early years when we were apart far more than we cared to be. The first time, when I had to leave you in Willingden after our engagement, pure torture it was, as if I’d been torn in half.”

“But we had so much to look forward to.”

“Mmm. We did.” He looked into her eyes, searching them in the soft light. “Has it been all you expected, this life of ours?”

She smiled, and with the grace of a cat, she slipped atop him, straddling his hips, propped on her elbows so her hands were free to caress his face, tracing her fingertip over the angles of his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his nose. “Our life has been everything I could ever want. We’ve painted it together, mixing the colors and filling in the blank spaces as we’ve gone along. Now and then we’ve had to redo a spot, but it’s always turned out better than before. And the painting is far from finished.”

“You’re right,” he said, reaching his hand under her arm to the back of her neck. “It’s far, far from finished.” He pulled her down into a kiss, long and deep and full of love.

ONE MONTH LATER.

**The Twenty-Seventh of October, 1846**

_The English Channel and Southampton_

Adam stood at the railing of the steamer, watching the coast of England draw closer. Not for a single moment did he regret his time in the Var; all of it had meaning to him, from laboring in the sun and tending the vines to appraising the fermenting vats and determining when the juice should be strained from the pomace. He’d grown so very close to Arthur, Francis and Diana, not as a boy this time, but as a man. He adored his cousin, Isabelle. Étienne, Guillaume and his family had welcomed Adam as one of them, and he loved them the same. He returned home with nothing but cherished memories and an expertise he could not have acquired anywhere in England.

The only fly in the ointment had been women. Far too many had set their hopes on capturing the heart of the handsome nephew of the rich Englishmen in town. When two women he barely knew had a brawl among the Boudreau vines, with jealousy over his imagined attentions as the cause, he swore off all women for the rest of his stay, be they wealthy widows, proper young ladies, or buxom farm girls.

And so, his reason for taking the diligence coach home with a stop in Paris to visit Jenny was more than simply seeing his dear cousin, although he was always happy in her company. He’d been craving female companionship of a certain sort, and Jenny had a circle of friends of the same mind as she, indifferent to marriage but quite willing to enjoy the right man in bed.

To his surprise, he found thirty-four year old Jenny was with child for the first time, happily so, and living with her longtime, off-again, on-again lover, Jacques, who now seemed quite permanent. Adam assumed Jacques was the father, but never asked. Jenny refused to marry, as she would lose control of her finances, the sum of which was quite respectable with Susan’s gift and the success of the books with Amelia, all in addition to her work as a periodical illustrator and portrait painter. She had not yet told anyone in the family of her condition other than Amelia, and she swore Adam to secrecy as well. Still, he felt sorry he could not tell Aunt Mary, knowing how happy she would be regardless of whether or not Jenny married.

Jenny’s friend, Lisette, he’d known from previous visits, an artist’s model with small pert breasts and slim hips, who also wrote serialized fiction in the penny dreadful vein using a male pseudonym. Older than he, but by how much he never knew, perhaps she might be thirty or so. In appearance, she could have been Jenny’s sister, with thick blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He enjoyed her throaty laugh and informal air, but he was especially keen on her disinterest in his life, that she had no desire to become a part of it.

As if she were a man, Lisette sought physical release without attachment, and Adam was more than willing to enjoy her lusty, inventive talents in the bedroom arts, then leave two days later with no more than a simple _au revoir._ How she managed to avoid pregnancy he had no idea, but he practiced _coitus interruptus_ whenever possible, knowing full well it was not foolproof, loathing it every time, but fearing an unfortunate marriage even more. He had resolved to himself this was to be the pattern of his life. He was simply ill-suited for matrimony.

Southampton was visible now. They would dock in less than an hour he supposed. How right his father had been years ago about the new docks and the railway, always seeming to possess some inside knowledge. For that very reason, Adam had left his father in charge of the inheritance from Susan, even though it became his nearly a year ago. But under his father’s hands, it had nearly doubled. Adam intended to drill down as far as he could to get to the source of his father’s Midas touch. He still had much to learn from his father, and finally, he understood that.

There was no hurry to leave for New York, Isaac Stringer had not even left yet. The war between Mexico and America still raged along the Rio Grande River, and the Americans were fighting among themselves about the legitimacy of the war in the first place. Mysterious California still beckoned to him, and he was certain a letter from Ash Pembroke awaited in Sanditon. After docking and customs, he set out to find a cab to take him to the mail coach depot, but instead to his astonishment, there stood Bates, one of the Parker drivers. His father had sent a carriage for him. He wasn’t even sure they had received his note, and even if they had, he wasn’t specific on arrival time, only the day.

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked Bates.

“No sir, Mr Parker told me precisely when to depart.”

Adam climbed in as Bates and the other coachman loaded the luggage. The afternoon was gray but dry. They would most likely finish the last stretch of the ride in the dark, never desirable, but a stopover in Worthing or Brighton could always be made if the going became rough. He mused as he looked out the window, glad actually for the privacy. Sending the coach was his father’s message in a bottle, his quiet way of saying, _Welcome home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should come as no surprise, but John’s feelings of “inadequacy” regarding Amelia’s inheritance is an actual psychological phenomena documented in recent studies, that while most men don’t mind, even welcome if their partner brings in less than they do, when the earnings tip the other way, men find it stressful. The study showed that many men were uncomfortable and even resentful if their partner showed greater success (and/or intelligence) in any field or endeavor, from income to weight loss, and that men inherently do not want a “competitive” relationship with their life partner. The situation in the story, coupled with John’s need to prove his worth in the face of prejudice, makes his behavior understandable from a psychological standpoint.


	91. When A Door Closes, A Window May Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I refer to Aaron resembling Uncle John Heywood, I think specifically of a character seen briefly in Episode 1, but more clearly in a montage that never made it to the final cut. Red Planet Pictures posted it and others on Twitter. The link is below. He’s the oldest boy in the film clip, and I see John as third after Alison and Charlotte, so he’s the right age. The best shot of him is at 31 seconds, the scene where Charlotte is teaching them to load the musket. He has long hair and wears a hat. This is the "Uncle John" I see Aaron resembling.  
> https://vimeo.com/425538182

THREE MONTHS LATER.

**The Twelfth of February, 1847**

_London_

Mrs Lucy Anderson performed her Annual Morning Concert in the Queen’s Concert Room at Hanover Square, at two o’clock precisely. On the program, Mrs Anderson, _Instructress and Pianiste to Her Majesty the Queen_ , would perform Mendelssohn’s _Allegro Brillante Op 92_ for piano four-hands _,_ with her pupil, Miss Justine Parker. With the exception of Aaron who was in school, all the Parker family proudly attended, and Justine, now nineteen, could not have been more radiant, duly noted by a young oboist, Mr Ellsworth Barre, a member of Her Majesty’s private band of wind instruments, who could not pull his eyes away from the enchanting vision before him. Acquainted with Mrs Anderson, Mr Barre requested an introduction to her pupil, and so began his lengthy, earnest quest to bring Miss Parker to the altar.

**The Sixteenth of February, 1847**

_On the Road and in Winchester_

An express letter came from Uncle John Heywood, sent to London as well as Sanditon, as he was never entirely sure where the Parkers might be. The family matriarch, Sarah, was ailing and not expected to last much longer. The family immediately proceeded to Willingden, and Adam offered to travel out to Winchester to collect Aaron so he could say farewell to his beloved grandmother.

Aaron, now fifteen and a half, had already planned his life in great detail, unabashedly frank in discussing the intricacies. After Winchester, he would attend the Royal College of Veterinary Medicine in London, whereupon after the three years necessary, he would be a certified veterinarian. He and Imogen would wed, and she would be the nurse in his clinic. Their combined 20,000 pounds from Susan should be doubled by then under Papa’s expert hand, and they would have all they needed for their venture. Adam found it astonishing that his younger brother could envision his path in life as such a straight line, where Adam’s future was a dark night sky full of stars begging to be connected to form a constellation.

It seemed poetic in a way, that Aaron so closely resembled Uncle John Heywood, whose fate was set from the moment he was born, destined to take over the Heywood estate, following the long line of Heywood first born sons. While Aaron was the _last_ Parker son, he firmly believed his fate was equally set. He and Imogen were certain the _Duchess_ arrived late, the carriage took her mother’s life, the cruel Mrs Peters left her on the Bedford Place doorstep, and Mr Parker took her in because the two of them were intended to spend the rest of their lives together, and both patiently waited until they could. It was remarkable really, and in a way, Adam envied Aaron as much as he envied Jay. Both his brothers’ lives held such surety.

Upon reaching Winchester, the coachmen headed to the stables to feed and rest the horses. Adam walked the short distance to Aaron’s dormitory, stopping for a moment to take in the scene. He had not been back to Winchester since he left in the early summer of ’42. From behind him, like a specter, a familiar voice spoke, causing the hair to stand on the back of his neck and a cold chill run down his spine.

“Why if it isn’t Adam Parker.”

He braced himself and would have raised his shield if he had one, then turned to look at her. “Good afternoon, Mrs Wilson,” he said, his voice and expression deliberately devoid of emotion.

She wore widow’s weeds, although the veil was thin and her face clearly visible, older but still beautiful. He hadn’t been aware Master Wilson had passed, but as she was still in black, it must have occurred within the year.

“My condolences for your loss.”

She smirked. “What a coincidence. I’ve been thinking of you recently.” Her eyes swept down and up.

“How unfortunate for you.”

She laughed, open throated, her mouth wide. “And why is that?”

“Because I have no thoughts of you.”

If he injured her, she did not reveal it. She clasped his upper arm. “Oh, come, come, Adam, I know you must think of me now and then.”

“Only with contempt, I assure you.” He took her by the wrist and plucked her hand away, dropping it without ceremony. That she flirted with him was bad enough, but while wearing mourning dress for Master Wilson irked him something fierce. From the corner of his eye, he saw Aaron approaching and held up his hand to keep him back. Her eyes shifted to his brother and returned to him.

“Contempt?” She raised her eyebrows, her mouth turning up in a sardonic smile. “How strange. You were always my favorite." Her eyes swept over him again, a smug look settling on her face. "And goodness, look at you now. I had excellent taste. I still do. Would you not care to find out?”

Countless retorts crossed his mind, but he knew she wanted exactly that, to engage him. He glared at her, eyes narrowed. “I am saddened to know of Master Wilson’s passing. He was a good and caring man. You did not deserve him, and I will have to live with the shame of what I did to him for the rest of my life. Good day, Mrs Wilson.”

He strode off, signaling for Aaron to follow. He did not look back. Aaron broke into a trot to catch up. “What was that all about?”

“Just keep walking.”

Once they had turned a corner, he slowed his pace. “Has she ever spoken to you, or asked you to carry a package?”

“No. I’m not a fool.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning she lures boys into doing things they shouldn’t. It’s well known.”

“It wasn’t when I was here.”

Aaron stopped in his tracks. “Good Gad, Adam! Were you one of them?”

Adam whipped around to look at him. “I’ll say no more about it.”

“Were you? Answer me.”

Adam clenched his jaw, then heaving a great sigh, he said, “If I answer you, will you promise me you will never, ever let her near you?”

“Of course, I promise. I love Imogen.”

Adam wished with all his heart he could someday feel that for a woman. _I love her._ The way other men said it, so matter-of-factly, rain is wet; the sun rises; _I love her_. It must make one feel so… so _whole_.

“Well?” asked his brother.

“Yes. Fifth form. It was a horrible mistake. I loathe her.” He turned and continued his hurried stride. Aaron trotted again to catch up, taking his brother by the shoulder in an attempt to slow him.

“Stop now,” he said. Adam did. “It surely wasn’t your fault. I know another boy it happened to. He could talk of nothing else at first, even thought he was in love with her, but then he felt wretched.”

“He told masters, too?”

“No, just us. So you did it all then?”

Adam nodded, his face grim.

“How many times?”

“How many times did your friend?”

“Plenty. A dozen perhaps.”

For some strange reason it made Adam feel better. “Twice.”

Aaron nodded, his brow knitted. He was nearly as tall as Adam, though still with a boyish frame, not quite filled out as he would be when older. “I’m sorry for you,” he said.

“I’m sorry for me, too, and all the other boys. Now you must make me another promise.”

“Never tell anyone.”

“That’s right. Not even Imogen. Certainly not Papa. Only you and Jay know. I wish to keep it that way.”

“You can trust me.”

Adam threw his arms around him, right there in the street, and lifted him off his feet. Aaron laughed and pushed him away, tussling. They continued towards the stables.

“How is Mama?” Aaron asked.

“She’s all right. Gran never fully recovered from losing Grandpapa. She is nearly seventy-one, after all.”

“Do you think seventy is old? That’s Rascal’s age in dog years, and he doesn’t seem old. Perhaps she misses Grandpapa, so she has decided to leave.”

“Perhaps. But it comes as no surprise to Mama. I believe she’s been expecting it.”

Aaron nodded, taking on his usual thoughtful expression.

When the horses were ready and Aaron’s bags loaded up, they set out, hoping to make Horsham before dark.

“Are you still helping John with the bottling machine?” Aaron asked.

Adam chuckled. “He’s getting ready to petition for a patent. John is a genius.”

“So that means he will own the rights?”

“That’s exactly what it means. It fills five bottles at a time, all the precise amount, minimal contact with air or people. The whole thing can be dismantled and cleaned. I had no idea syphoning was so complicated.”

“Does he miss his old work, do you think? Last time I saw him he had just left.”

“Perhaps a little at first, but he still goes to an office every day, only it’s our office and not Mr Brunel’s. He has his workshop there, that’s where I’m helping him to assemble the first one, the prototype he calls it.”

“I imagine Amelia is happy about it.”

“Honestly, I think John is as well. He doesn’t have that harried look about him anymore. He’s more like he was when they first married. Smiles and laughs more often. It seems so to me, anyway, but I haven’t been here all that much. I suppose I’m a poor judge.”

“No. I think you see others quite well.” He studied his brother, then asked, “Any news from California?”

Adam grinned. “Another letter from Ash Pembroke. It went from San Francisco Bay all the way around Cape Horn to Charleston in America, then to England, nearly eight months to arrive.”

“Do you really want to be so far away, Adam?”

“I want to see it. It doesn’t mean I’ll stay. I cannot leave anyway. Not until the war is over. The Yankees commandeered San Francisco Bay some time ago, and another American force arrived overland and won battles in the south. And they are attacking in Mexico proper. I’m certain the Americans will win.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Pembroke says they’ll be better than Mexico, that cares not about California. They believe it’s a wasteland, but Pembroke says it’s nothing of the kind. He supposes the Yanks will civilize it, make roads, mail service, proper towns. It’s the future.”

“How do you know it’s yours?”

“I don’t, which is why I want to go there. How do you know your future is here, being an animal doctor?”

“Because I know. Papa calls it intuition. It’s how he makes investments.”

“You should know that word from your Latin.”

“I do. But Papa made it make sense in a tangible way.”

Adam smiled in acknowledgement, and after a moment, Aaron continued.

“My friend, Eddington, he ran away, you know. After Master Wilson died.”

“What do you mean, ran away?”

He’d already stopped going there, to see her, but then when Master Wilson died, he panicked I guess. His father found him eventually, but he hasn’t come back to school.”

“When did this happen?”

“November, before the end of autumn term. Is that why you keep leaving? Is it because of her?”

Adam scoffed. “That is absurd. Your friend, Eddington, was far over his head. I was not. I never had feelings for her, in fact she disgusted me. I finished fifth and sixth form. I did not run away. She has no hold over me, never has.”

“Then why did you do it? If she disgusted you?”

“Must we talk about this, Bit?”

“Why should it bother you to talk, if you were all right, not over your head as you say.”

“Persistent, you are.” He huffed and gave Aaron a pinched look. “I did it because I was naïve.”

“Did you not have the talk with Papa?”

“Of course. And I saw the books boys passed around with all the drawings that make men’s parts look laughably enormous and women’s breasts the size of cannonballs. Looking at lewd pictures is one thing. It’s quite another when you are barely sixteen and never even kissed a girl, and a beautiful, _married_ woman asks you to help her with a task and then puts her hand inside your trousers before you can think. By the second time, I had thought. And I knew I wanted none of it. So I avoided her completely the rest of my days at Winchester. I never told anyone until Jay, recently I might add, and now you.”

“Why do you suppose she does it?”

“I have no idea, nor do I wish to ponder. May we leave this now?”

“Yes, forgive me. I’m trying to understand, that’s all.”

“She is unwell in her mind. You cannot help her. She’s not a puppy with a broken leg. She is a grown woman who preys on young boys and leaves them troubled, as Eddington is.”

“Yes, that is the truth of it.”

They both gazed out opposite windows, lost in their thoughts, watching the late winter landscape pass by.

**The Twentieth of February, 1847**

_Willingden_

As it sometimes happens, Sarah Heywood waited for all her family to arrive, from great-grand babes to eldest daughter. During the night of the seventeenth, as Charlotte and Alison dozed on a settee together in their mother’s room, she took her last breath. That morning the body was laid-out and the coffin called for, a wreath of laurel tied with black ribbons hung on the front door. Today she was placed in the ground next to her husband, the stone cutter’s work already done with the addition of the last date to the double headstone.

Although there was great sorrow, also was there a sense of relief that Sarah joined her beloved John. Ashes to ashes; dust to dust. Neighbors and tenants came to pay their respects, bringing gifts of food and spirits. Uncle John had the barn set up as they did for the harvest celebration, with plank tables and a hodge-podge of chairs and benches enough for the entire family, close friends, and neighbors to share a meal and memories. Now, Charlotte supposed, she was the Heywood matriarch, but left the honors to Abigail, her sister-in-law, brother John’s wife.

Charlotte, after all, was a Parker.

**The Twenty-Second of February, 1847**

_On the Road to London_

All in the carriage slept except Amelia. It had been a tiring week and quarters had been tight. In the Heywood manor, the two girls slept in the same bed with her and John; little Oliver at least had his Moses basket. Heading home, Susan nestled in Justine’s arms, Oliver’s basket beside them, placed so Amelia’s knees rested against it, preventing any movement should the carriage lurch. Next to her, John held Sarah in his lap, their heads resting together.

She felt the girls had received the best of both parents when it came to their physical attributes, their eyes his amber color but the shape hers, their hair dark and thick but with curls, their skin a soft warm color a shade or two lighter than his golden. Beautiful mirror images of each other, and yet already showing distinctively different personality.

Susan was born first, and remained so, first to walk, first to talk, always the adventurous one. Sarah, who came fifteen minutes later, was thoughtful and a bit shy, equally as precocious as her sister, but at her own pace. In four days’ time would come their third birthday, and they were terribly excited, having no clear memory of their previous two. Darshini and Edmund Conrad would come from Winchester, and Papa and Mama would stay on in London for a time, as her fiftieth birthday was near.

Amelia still did not know what transpired between John and her father that night in the study at the Square. When they arrived home, John retreated into his own study, not unusual in those days, while she read bedtime stories to the girls, and nursed Oliver, and went to bed alone. Sometime after she had fallen asleep, he came to bed, kissing her awake and loving her with such aching tenderness and desire, she wept. A dam had broken, releasing a torrent of pain from all the arguing and harsh feelings that had transpired between them since well before Oliver was born, back to the long weeks away when he worked on the Bristol line and the girls were mere babes.

When they both were sated, he held her and said he would not take the York line position, and if Brunel would not keep him there in London in a position on level with his tenure and abilities, he would give notice. “It’s time for me to be the master, not the subordinate,” he had said. And he kept his word, working his last day the week before Christmas. Then in January, after he, Jay and Michael set up a large workroom in the building that housed the Parker offices, he began designing the bottling apparatus.

Suddenly, the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. He worked with his family and the value of his contribution was never questioned. And for the first time since the days of his long letters before they married, he began to tell her the details of his labors. He asked her advice, showed her his drawings. When she made a suggestion as to how to make the apparatus simpler to operate, he incorporated her idea into the design. He found satisfaction in the unpretentious project. Adam worked with him, and they laughed and joked throughout the day he said.

Amelia and John no longer argued in any real way. He was not only home for dinner every night, but present in his mind and spirit. There were days she dared not think of the change in him, for fear he would miss his old work, and she would lose him again. Justine in her sweet, supportive way, told her sister not to doubt a miracle, but revel in it instead. And Amelia did.

**The Fourth of March, 1847**

_London_

Charlotte’s fiftieth birthday gathering was in the Grosvenor Square house. Decorum after a death did not allow for a festive celebration, and all the family wore mourning dress. With so many of Susan’s loyal staff remaining in service, the planning was effortless for Amelia and Justine. The butler and housekeeper saw to all the fine details as Lady Susan would have requested it, dinner for close friends and family, followed by music. Even Crowe managed to keep himself respectable.

Georgiana and Charlotte sat together in the grand drawing room for a time after dinner.

“Such dear old friends we are,” said Georgiana. “I can scarcely believe we’ve known each other for nearly twenty-eight years.”

Charlotte took her hand. “How far we’ve come from the two pariahs of Lady Denham’s pineapple lunch.” They both laughed conspiratorially.

“No, honestly I think it was Arthur who was the true villain in Lady Denham’s eyes.”

“Yes, he _manhandled_ her pineapple.”

“Her _rotten_ pineapple.”

Laughter engulfed them again. “And then I was a most terrible influence on you, convincing you to paddle in the water with me.”

“I thought old Mrs Griffiths would collapse from shock right then and there. _Anyone could have seen you!_ ” she imitated.

“Then you threw down her parasol when she could not find it!”

“I was a spoilt brat,” Georgiana snorted, “especially when compared to the Beaufort sisters.”

“Goodness, I have not seen those two in years. Do you ever?”

“Never. I am afraid we travel in very different circles. I’m not certain where either lives, to be honest.”

Sidney and Otis joined them. “And what has you two in stiches?” asked Otis.

“Oh, rotten pineapples and the Beaufort sisters,” said Georgiana.

“We are reminiscing," said Charlotte.

“Poor Arthur. He never lived that down in old Lady D’s eyes,” said Sidney, who began to chuckle himself.

“Wasn’t it full of maggots?” asked Otis.

“Oh yes, it was revolting, but she was still furious,” Charlotte said.

“But that awful luncheon,” said Georgiana, “is the moment we became friends.” She squeezed Charlotte’s hand. “And so, we recalled the auspicious day.”

**The Eighth of March, 1847**

_Sanditon_

With all that happened last month, Charlotte was just now pruning her roses. Sidney watched her annual ritual from the window in his study, her strong, sure movements as she wielded the clippers and occasionally a small pruning saw brought a smile to his face. She was bundled up in woolens and heavy gloves, but this year, she did not have dear, old Mr Whitcomb to aid her. The ancient gardener had moved in with his son down in Sanditon proper, unable to continue to work. They had hired a new man, Mr Glancy, capable it seemed, good references, and Charlotte approved of his work. He was perhaps thirty years or so, unmarried, from Shropshire originally, a pleasant enough fellow.

Adam had accompanied them from London, wanting fresh air, and to ride and sea bathe, and to see James, who was expected home any minute, much to everyone’s delight. Sidney never thought he would be thankful for a war, but as long as the one between Mexico and America continued, Adam seemed content to stay put for a time. 


End file.
